


A Northern Tale

by WolverMean (feral_albertan_female)



Series: Feral and Forever [1]
Category: Marvel, Sabretooth - Fandom, Victor Creed - Fandom, Wolverine (Comics), X-Men, X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men Alternate Universe
Genre: Alberta, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beginnings, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Male Character, Blood and Violence, Canada, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Help, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Marvel Universe, Mates, Mating, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Mating sex, Multi, My First Work in This Fandom, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Sabretooth - Freeform, Series, Smoking, Stalking, Swearing, Vaginal Fingering, Victor Creed - Freeform, Violence, bordello, continuing adventures, early 1900s, finished work, mated pair, ongoing series, tags are weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-01-17 12:09:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 48,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12365481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feral_albertan_female/pseuds/WolverMean
Summary: Victor Creed has tracked James Logan Howlett across Europe into western Canada and the game begins to wear a little thin once he reaches northern Alberta.Creed ends up at Madame Olive's bordello - a favourite haunt - where he meets a kid who's packing some pretty big secrets.





	1. Play Chase

**Author's Note:**

> Fort McMurray and Fort Chipewyan are real places in northern Alberta.
> 
> Fort McMurray and Fort McKay (a town 45 minutes outside of McMurray) were both evacuated during a fire in May 2016, which burned through both places, as well as outlying areas and a First Nations settlement. 2,400 structures - homes, businesses, property - were destroyed. 
> 
> The fire consumed 589,552 hectares (1,456,810 acres) and wasn't officially extinguished until August 17, 2017.
> 
> Over 88,000 people had to leave their homes at a moment's notice. Many people lost their homes, belongings, and even pets.
> 
> There were no human casualties. 
> 
> “Que veux-tu?” translates to "What do you want?"
> 
> “Je ne savais pas!” translates to "I did not know!"
> 
> Any and all mistakes are my own. Comments are welcome!

I’m ahead, I’m the man  
I’m the first mammal to wear pants, yeah.  
I’m at peace with my lust  
I can kill ‘cause in god I trust, yeah.  
It’s evolution, baby.  
\- Do the Evolution, Pearl Jam

 

~*~*~

 

Victor Creed loved war. 

The blood, the heat, the screams, the dust, the tear of claws through flesh, teeth through muscle…fuck, there was nothing about it that he didn’t love.

The one thing he hated about war – if he had to choose one thing – was fighting alone. Victor liked to have a partner, someone with whom he could share the spoils of war with, someone who was as bloody and sick and twisted as he was. It made him feel less lonely.

Victor thought he had a permanent partner in James Howlett; their friendship –if you could call it that – was long and complicated. But the little runt was as bloody and sick and twisted as he was and Victor couldn’t have been happier to have Jimmy by his side, cutting and shooting and killing.

Then Jimmy changed his mind. 

 

He no longer wanted to tramp his way through Europe, slicing and dicing every enemy the pair came across. Jimmy said those things no longer made him happy, no longer appealed to the beast within.Victor could smell his lie as easily as he felt Jimmy’s betrayal the morning he woke up to find the runt gone, his small rucksack of supplies missing. 

Victor could have raised the alarm, called Jimmy a traitor and deserter, had him hunted down like a mangy dog, but he didn’t. He alone wanted the privilege of the hunt, he alone wanted to track down the runt, show him that they were bound together forever and running wouldn’t make a fucking bit of difference.

He kindly gave Jimmy a few days head start – for old times’ sake – before setting out after him.

Victor Creed loved the chase.

~*~*~

 

Northern Alberta, Canada - 1917 

The hot, stale air of Madame Olive’s bordello oozed into Victor’s nose, bringing with it the sweet scents of sweat, sex, alcohol, perfume, and desperation. The last smell brought a wide smile to his ruggedly handsome face, a glimpse of wickedly sharp canines visible behind those lips.

Desperation made people do stupid things and wicked things in its name, and if there was a person Victor was looking for, it was someone stupid and wicked.

“Mister Creed,” lilted a cultured female voice. “It’s wonderful to see you again. I didn’t expect to see you so soon, especially with a war going on.”

Victor took his grin down a notch, making sure his lips were firmly over his canines before turning towards the lady who had spoken. Madame Olive Johnson had her hand lifted, waiting to receive him. Her long, graceful fingers were cold as Victor closed his own around them before bringing them to his lips for a chaste kiss.

Madame O - as she was more commonly referred to - was a tall, broad-shouldered woman with a hawkish nose and an extremely weak chin that faded into her neck. She was mostly all leg, with a squat torso and short arms. Despite her awkward appearance, there was a certain charm about her and shrewdness in her steel grey eyes that Victor liked.

Madame was a rare breed of woman – she came from wealth and was highly educated. Due to that fact – and because she was more handsome than pretty – she had never married, much to the chagrin of her father. When he died, he passed along his fortune to his son, Olive’s younger brother Oscar, who went through a majority of it before Mr. Johnson was cold in the grave.

Not one to rest on her laurels, Olive did the one thing she knew would make her rich – she moved from central Alberta to the northern part of the province and opened a bordello. 

She was laughed at, of course. Who in their right mind would move to a place that was known only for its trapping and hunting, where woolly bears of men roamed the land skinning and gutting and selling whatever they caught. The fur trade was still active in the area, though not as prosperous as it had once been. The area became more of a place where men came in order to go further north, into Fort Chipewyan or the arctic. But there was always a man who craved female – or male – company. Madame did not judge. Money was money.

It wasn’t a bordello for girls who were dainty and fragile – this house needed a tougher breed, a hearty, healthy girl who could not only stand the cold climate, but could survive the brutality of the wilderness, as well as the winter. There was an excellent mix to choose from – local Cree girls, English and Québécois girls, girls who had been abandoned or widowed and found themselves trapped, girls hoping to make a quick buck and head south with the next man who would take them. 

That wasn’t to say that Madame Olive didn’t take care of her girls and boys; they were well looked after and well compensated. There was a nurse on-site and a doctor only a half-hour’s walk away. She kept a few bouncers on hand to handle to rougher clientele. No one messed with Madame’s girls. Or boys.

Men from all over the country ventured to the small town in order to drink and whore before moving on. The discovery of oil also helped fill the bordello; oilmen loved to frequent Olive’s for a good time, and if one didn’t want to partake of the whores, she operated a hotel next door that served great food. 

This day, Madame O had her greying blonde in a bun with no adornments. The dress she wore was simple: navy blue, belted at her wide waist with a small V neckline. Its long sleeves and calf length hid the scars that pitted her arms and legs. A cameo was pinned on her collar and her brown boots were polished to a sheen that would have impressed an army sergeant. 

“A man can only do so much fightin’ before he needs a change o’ scenery,” Victor said, releasing Madame O’s hand. 

“Last I heard, you were fighting in France,” Madame O said, her wide-set grey eyes fixed on Victor, her almost too-wide mouth set in a smile. She wore little make-up, as did most of the girls here. It was an unnecessary expense most women couldn’t afford during wartime. Besides, being so far north made it almost impossible for such items to be brought here.

“Jimmy’s been through?” Victor asked. He’d spent months tracking the runt through France, England and over the ocean to Canada. Count on Jimmy to run the fuck home when he was feeling out of sorts.

Madame O didn’t respond but her smile spoke volumes. “Will you be wanting any of your regulars, Mr. Creed?”

Victor truly hadn’t come to Madame’s for the purpose of whoring – Jimmy was his main focus – but it had been a long trip north and he felt he could spend a few days between the legs of some girl. 

He flicked his amber gaze around the common area, quickly taking in the available men and women. He saw a few that he liked – some of the precious few who could take Victor’s more…primal tendencies – but none of them appealed. He’d been feeling restless lately and that was beginning to feed into his beast, which wanted something special, something animal – another feral.

The only other feral he knew was Jimmy and Victor had spent months following his scent, dreaming about him, wanting him, needing him, stalking him. He huffed a laugh out through his nose. 

“Dunno, Madame O,” Victor drawled. “I’m cravin’ somethin’ different tonight.”

She bowed her head slightly. “I will let you browse.” 

Victor took a few steps towards the common area, considering whether or not he should go in, when someone caught his eye. He turned towards the small bar, intrigued. 

“Who’s that?” Victor indicated his head towards a boy, no older than 16, who was leaning against the bar, elbows on the ledge, heel of one foot propped up on the brass railing. 

The kid was dressed a pair of baggy trousers held up by suspenders which were hidden under a ratty brown vest, black boots that had been patched and re-patched, a loose-fitting once white shirt was a dingy shade of grey and a tatty brown overcoat. A grey newsboy cap sat atop his head, brim pulled low. A cigarette burned in his left hand.

“Evan,” replied Madame O. “New bouncer. He’s young, but he’s strong and a great scrapper. Our smart customers are wary of him; the staff adore him.”

Victor watched the boy take a drag from the hand rolled cigarette. It was almost sensual how the kid pulled on the smoke. He licked his lips, fascinated. “Know his story?”

Madame O shook her head with a smile. “No and he’s not for sale, I’m afraid.”

Victor raked his eyes down the boy’s body, taking in the short but strong looking legs and the curve of his neck. “Pity.”

“Indeed,” Madame O squeezed Victor’s arm gently. “I am sure, however, that you will find solace with what I do have available.”

Victor graced her with a sharp smile. “Perhaps.”

Madame O squeezed his arm again and faded off into the crowd with a tiny wave. Victor watched her go and then set off towards the small bar, with its black stools and red painted backdrop accented with mirrors and faux silver décor. It was stocked with liquor smuggled back from overseas and whatever hooch was being brewed in the backwoods.

The bartender, a slight, feminine looking man with impeccably groomed brown hair, took interest when Victor stepped up, his eyes blatantly travelling over the large man’s frame. “What can I get you, Mr. Creed?”

“Whatever’s local,” he replied, leaning his forearms on the bar.  
“Don’t,” said the boy, smoke curling up around his face as he spoke.

“Evan –“ the bartender warned.

“It’s basically gasoline mash,” the boy continued, turning his face towards the larger man. “Told Madame O she was a fool t’ buy it, but she’s got a soft heart. It’s been hard gettin’ th’ good stuff since the war started. Get the rye. It ain’t great but it’s the best we got.” 

Victor studied Evan’s face; oval, with a sharp chin, light green eyes, pert nose with a dusting of freckles across the nose and cheeks. The lips were a perfect Cupid’s bow shape, the bottom one slightly plumper than the top. His rust coloured hair was long enough to brush the nape of his neck.

“Gimme rye instead,” Victor said and then turned to the boy. “Thanks, kid.”

“Name’s Evan,” the boy said. “I’ll pay for that one, Marty.”

The bartender set the glass in front of Victor. “Sure thing, Evan. Anything else, Mr. Creed?”

“You got any o’ them cigars I like? Jimmy might’ve brought a box when he was in last.” 

“You’re in luck, Mr. Creed,” Marty said as he turned towards the shelf almost bare of liquor. “Mr. Howlett brought a whole box an’ barely touched them.” He pulled open a drawer and took out a plain wooden box. He set it in front of Victor, who flipped the lid back and removed a large, thick cigar.

It still smelled like he remembered – warm evenings in the Dominican with Jimmy before the war pulled them to Europe, the sand between their toes and the ocean spread out before them. Cold beers in the afternoons and hot women at night.

“Here kid,” Victor tossed the one he’d been holding to Evan, who caught it deftly. “For the liquor. It’s Dominican.”

“Thanks, sir!” The kid’s voice was genuine as he lifted the cigar to his nose. Evan was suitably impressed and Victor grabbed another. “Wow, that’s gotta be the nicest tobacco I ever smelled.” 

“Name’s Victor Creed,” he said, watching as the kid tucked the cigar inside his coat for safekeeping. Even the way Evan performed that simple movement lit a fire inside of Victor. “You ain’t been around, kid?” 

Evan shrugged, with a grin. “Not to the Dominican, anyway. Born and raised ‘round here. Workin’ on gettin’ around, though.”

Victor laughed. “With a war on, kid, you could get just about anywhere.”

Again, the kid shrugged, a graceful ripple of muscles that made Creed’s mouth water with want. “Guess so,” he replied, his green eyes guarded. 

Victor turned his back to the bar, his eyes wandering over the whores sitting in the lounge. Some were already flirting coquettishly with possible patrons; others were fanning themselves or chatting softly with each other. In the corner, a Victrola spun a record, its volume low, tinny music wheezing softly from its speaker. 

Slowly, subtly, Victor flared his nostrils, trying to scent Evan. He picked up floral perfume, rank and acrid sweat, sex and he was able to pinpoint exactly which person those smells came from, but the one person he couldn’t scent was the kid. He’d been trying to pick up something – anything - from Evan for the past five minutes and was getting nowhere.

Evan had absolutely no smell and that struck Victor as odd. Everyone had their own distinct odour; Jimmy of cedar and warm leather. Madame O like lilies. Marty smelled like blueberries. These were scents that were unique to the person and were a constant undercurrent, existing under other smells picked up throughout the day. 

Victor’s beast was prowling around inside, thrown off by this fact. The beast didn’t like that someone could arouse it so but possess no scent; there was no way to know if it was prey or predator. He pushed down a laugh; there was no fucking way that kid was a predator. Victor was a predator, top of the food chain; everyone else was beneath him. 

The beast wasn’t so sure. Not being able to scent something made it unknown, dangerous. This didn’t sit well with it and it didn’t like feeling this way. In order to distract himself, Victor downed the shot of rye and managed not to grimace at the taste. The kid was right – it wasn’t great. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Victor saw Evan pinch off the end of his cigarette, making sure it was out before stuffing it into the pocket of his jacket. He tipped his cap to Victor and strode off towards the door where he slid onto a stool.

Even the way Evan walked, the sway of hips, the graceful movement of his shoulders made Victor hard and appealed to the beast’s primal urges. He wanted to grab Evan, throw him to the floor, and take him in front of everyone. Victor wasn’t sure why he was being affected so strongly, especially since the kid had no scent, but his body was reacting as if Evan was catnip.

Victor let out a breath. It was time to do some serious fucking, get the kid off his mind. He was about to scatter a few pennies on the bar as a generous tip for Marty when he was caught by how long the bartender’s fingers were as he cleaned a glass.

“Hey, Marty,” Victor said. The bartender looked up at him with a smile. “You got someone to cover? Got an itch that needs scratchin’.”

Marty slowly put down the glass. “Let me speak with Madame O but I’d say your chances of havin’ that itch scratched are pretty high, Mr. Creed.” He left to find the Madame and Victor leaned back against the bar, watching him go. 

Victor hadn’t come in looking for male company but the kid got him all worked up and the small, passive, feminine-looking Marty felt like a good substitute since he couldn’t get what he really wanted.

It only took a few minutes before Marty was back. He tilted his head and flashed the numbers 10 and five, which meant to meet in room 10 in five minutes. Victor nodded and watched Marty ascend the stairs to the second level.

As he waited the appropriate amount of time, he found his gaze wandering back to Evan, still perched on stool. The kid was spooning soup from a bowl into his mouth while a pretty, young redhead stood next to him, talking animatedly while her eyes worshipped him adamantly. 

When he was done the soup, Evan wiped his mouth on the sleeve on his jacket and handed the bowl back to the girl, their hands touching briefly. He gave her a charming smile and pecked her on the cheek. She ran away, giggling.

Victor felt a pang of jealousy over the kiss, as chaste as it was. He then shook himself; jealousy was an emotion he hadn’t felt in a long time, not since Jimmy had –

Fuck that. If the kid was still in his blood in a few days, Victor would just take him, consequences be damned. It wasn’t as if Madame O’s was the only bordello in Alberta; Creed was used to burning bridges in order to get what he wanted.

Soon, Victor found himself passing Evan to get to the stairs.

“Have a nice night, Mr. Creed.” Evan said.

Victor turned his predatory smile on him. “You bet I will, kid,” he said, tonguing his sharp canines. “You bet I will.”

~*~*~

The next morning found Victor’s appetite sated – well, one of his appetites, at least. 

He was sitting at a table next door in the hotel, waiting on breakfast to arrive. The pretty redhead who had received Evan’s kiss last night was serving him and a few others, looking at ease with the jobs she was tasked. She also had the eye of quite a few men as she brought food, removed dirty dishes, and poured juice and coffee. 

The girl was comely, on her way to being beautiful without even knowing it. Her body moved like a nervous filly, as if she wasn’t quite used to the woman she’d suddenly become. When she was still, she constantly smoothed her hands over her hips as if she were trying to flatten the fabric of her dress.

Her long red hair was pulled back into a braid that hung to her waist, her eyes as blue as a robin’s egg. Her skin was peachy and smooth, her lips plump and pink. She had a bit of blush in her cheek and a charming Irish accent.

If the girl were still a virgin, she’d fetch a very high price for Madame O. Apparently, Victor wasn’t the only one with that thought; he heard the crash of dishes and gruff laughter.

“Where you goin’, sweetheart? I ain’t done lookin’ at you yet.”

“Let me go!”

Victor looked up from a cheap paperback he’d found in the sitting room to see one of the bigger trappers grasping the girl’s arm tightly. The man was big, broad shouldered and barrel chested with lank, stringy brown hair that was starting to recede back from his temples. He had a busy brown moustache that reminded Victor of a walrus. In fact, the man was quite close to being a walrus himself; loud, barking, and obnoxious with his nut brown skin and bristly whiskers. The girl was still. She was smart in the sense that she wasn’t trying to struggle her way out of the large man’s grip; she knew putting up a fight wouldn’t end well for her. Instead, her blue eyes were wide as she tried to stare the man down, her lips tight with anger.

“I’d pay a pretty penny for you, Irish Rose,” crooned the large trapper as he stood. He yanked her arm, forcing her to turn so he could get a good look at her firm ass. 

“I said let me go!” the girl said loudly. She yelped as a large hand swatted her behind.

“She’s a feisty one,” the trapper chuckled to his breakfast companion, a man with coal black eyes and feminine lips. “I like ‘em feisty, right Jasmine?”

“I said no!” the girl – Jasmine – jerked herself out of the man’s grip. Her hand came down hard across his cheek, his head snapping to the side under the force of her blow. She pulled her hand back with a cry – broken, Victor thought. The trapper’s companion leapt to his feet.

There was a moment of silence as the trapper worked his jaw, bringing his fingers up to touch where Jasmine had struck him. When he lifted his head, his eyes were crackling with fury. “Ya stupid cunt,” he hissed, reaching out for her. “Yer mine now.”

The girl gasped and took a few steps back, cradling her injured hand to her stomach. Her wide, frightened eyes flicked around the room, hoping someone would help her, but the patrons seemed more interested in what was about to unfold rather than coming to her rescue.

Victor sighed; he wasn’t the type to rescue a frail in distress – that was more Jimmy’s thing – but he was eager for a fight. He hadn’t been in a good brawl since Montreal and it would feel good to bash some skulls, maybe spill some blood.

He slapped his hands on the table and stood, but before he could make a move, a small blur shot past him, and Victor caught Jasmine as she was suddenly shoved in his direction. There was a loud, hoarse cry and Victor saw the big man go down on his knees. Evan had the man’s arm twisted behind his back.

“Why’m I not surprised it’s you, Pointer?” Evan snarled. “It’s like ya go lookin’ for trouble.”

“Don’t want no trouble,” panted the other man, sweat beginning to pour into his thick moustache. “Jus’ wanted a l’il taste is all.” He grunted in pain as Evan yanked his arm higher.

“You know girls workin’ this side ain’t for sale, Stan,” Evan growled.

“Then why dontcha tell me all about her pussy, boy?” Pointer hissed. “Seems like th’ only one she’s spreadin’ for is you.”

The crack of Evan’s fist on the other man’s face had Jasmine gasping and pressing her face into Victor’s chest. There were two more loud smacks before the kid hauled Pointer over the girl, who breathlessly turned to face him.

“Apologize,” Evan demanded, an edge of danger in his voice.

Pointer gave Jasmine a wide, rotten-toothed smile before spitting a glob of bloody phlegm at her feet. “Fuck you,” he spluttered through his swollen jaw.

Evan dropped the man onto the hardwood floor and placed his foot against his throat, pressing down. “If I ever see you near Jasmine or in these walls again, I will kill you, understand?” Pointer was gasping for air, his hands clawing at the kid’s boot. His face was beginning to turn a shade of purple Victor had only seen once before. Evan increased the pressure. “Do. You. Understand.” Each word was carefully enunciated.The man gurgled a response and the kid removed his foot. “Get him out of here,” he said to Pointer’s companion. “NOW.”

The man scrambled to scrape the larger trapper off of the floor and Victor watched as Pointer was dragged out the door, leaving a bloody stripe behind him. Victor's cock was hard, harder than it had been in months. He wanted to fuck the kid so bad, feel his body move and sweat under his --

Jasmine flung herself at Evan as soon as the kid was close enough. “Are you okay?” he asked, his lips close to her cheek.

“I am now,” the girl replied. She sighed as she buried her head in the crook of his shoulder. Victor repressed the growl that threatened to release as jealousy touched him yet again. 

“Your hand,” he said gently, cupping it in his own. “Go back to the kitchen and I’ll come look at it.”

Jasmine nodded, a pretty blush coming to her cheeks as she obeyed. The girl had just vanished when Madame O strode into the room, being careful not to tread on the streak of red on the floor.

“I saw Stanley Pointer being dragged out,” she said briskly, her eyes on Evan. “Was there trouble?”

“Taken care of, Madame,” Evan answered. “He’s banned.”

The woman nodded sharply, taking in the blood smeared on the hardwood. “Jasmine?”

“Jus’ a bit shaken is all,” the kid replied. Victor found it curious why he didn’t mention the girl’s broken hand, but he kept his mouth shut. 

“Get Sophie to finish up breakfast,” Madame O said. “Mop up this…mess.”

It was Evan’s turn to nod and he headed back towards the kitchen. Madame spared a quick glance at Victor before sweeping out of the room without looking back. A small, plump girl with a mass of blonde curls in a ponytail came out with Victor’s breakfast and he sat as she placed it before him.

“Madame sends her apologies, sir,” she said in a soft, gentle voice. “She will not take payment for your meal. Please enjoy it with her compliments.”

Victor gave the girl a predatory smile that made her gasp, her chest flushing prettily and her heart racing before she fled back towards the kitchen. He cut into his steak and contemplated what the fuck he had just witnessed.

Evan was not a big kid; it was obvious he wasn't getting any bigger, but he had pounded a man three times his size into goddamn horse glue without batting an eye. Not only that, but considering the force of the hits the kid had bashed into Pointer’s face, he should have a few busted knuckles at the very least. Sure there had been blood smeared on Evan’s fist, but there hadn’t been any obvious injury to his hand.

Victor watched as the kid came out with a mop and bucket. The kid’s hands were free and clear and didn’t even show so much as a fucking bruise. Now Creed had some questions, and the fact his dick wasn’t getting any softer helped him make a decision. He could stay just a little while longer.

Jimmy could wait.

~*~*~

That night found Victor partaking in the particular charms of Marty again. 

Earlier in the day, he’d managed to find the plump, pretty girl from the kitchen and gotten her to lift her dress for him. She’d been eager and tight, but inexperienced in the art of fucking. It left Victor wanting more.

Room 10 was specifically built for the larger men who frequented the bordello, so Creed was quite comfortable in a bed that could accommodate his six foot six inch frame. He was content for the moment; more so once the smaller man curled up against him, relaxed and covered in sweat and come.

Victor didn’t like many people to know, but he liked to cuddle after sex when he was in the mood. The closeness of another body made him feel wanted, even if he was paying for the privilege. There had been times when Jimmy hadn’t minded being pulled close in the middle of the night, but those times had grown less and less frequent before the runt had fucked off, leaving Victor alone.

He sighed and tucked his arms behind his head, his mind drifting back to Jimmy. When the image morphed into Evan, he sighed again and closed his eyes.

“What’s on your mind, Mr, Creed?” Marty asked gently, trailing his long fingers over the larger man’s well-defined chest.

“Been thinkin’ a lot about the kid,” Victor rumbled, his eyes opening.

Marty laughed softly, his fingers tugging Victor’s chest hair lightly. “I know,” he said. “Can’t help but see the way you look at him.”

Victor chuckled. “Don’t be jealous, Marty. I ain’t his type. ‘Sides, y’know you got the tightest ass in Alberta.”

Marty genuinely laughed and lifted his head to look down at the larger man’s face. “I got answers if you got questions, Mr. Creed.”

“How much?” he grumbled playfully.

“No extra charge,” Marty said slyly, his hand sliding down to brush Victor’s pubic hair, “except maybe another night with me.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Victor smiled, “but you got yourself a deal.”

~*~*~

Over the next half an hour, Marty painted a vivid picture of Evan’s life.

The kid had been born and raised in and around Fort McMurray to a couple that had emigrated from England in order to take advantage of the discovery of oil in the area.

They arrived expecting a wild paradise, but instead found a harsh, unforgiving land filled with dangerous animals and even more dangerous men. The winters were brutally cold, the landscape cruel, but they managed to secure some property and build suitable lodging.

Evan was the second of two children; Marty was unsure of his sister’s name because he never mentioned it. The kid would only get a sad look in his eyes whenever the subject of siblings came up. His sister had been sold, Marty said, because the father had died, leaving the mother fending not only for herself, but also for two kids.

Evan’s sister was married off to a trapper who paid good coin for her, helping keep a roof over their heads and food on the table for the next little while. The girl had only been thirteen, her new husband ten years her senior. He had moved his new wife down south, towards Calgary.

Eventually, the mother grew ill and died, leaving eleven-year-old Evan to fend for himself. The kid chopped wood, skinned animals, tanned hides, anything at all in order to buy food and rent a room. He grew older and learned to scrap to keep himself safe and out of the way men who would gladly take advantage of a boy that young. 

Evan was arrested after beating a man almost to death for trying to rape a woman at the local trading post – that woman being Madame Olive herself. She paid off the local constabulary and took the kid back to her bordello – to work as a bouncer. She knew there was power beneath that innocent looking face and small frame, so why not put it to better use rather than letting it go to waste in some jail?

The kid had been a great addition to the staff – fights and assaults were virtually zero. Men from all over had heard about Madame O’s enforcer and were wary about doing something that would earn Evan’s ire. 

When a fight did go down, people would gather 'round and make bets about who would walk away and who would have to be carried away. Evan had apparently won quite a bit of money from those scraps. Marty was sure the kid had the cash squirrelled away somewhere.

Other than the brawls, Evan kept to himself. He did his chores, went hunting and fishing for meat, and never complained about any of it. Madame O said that Evan was the perfect employee and the kid seemed happy to have a permanent place to lay his head at night.

~*~*~

Victor almost wished he could give a fuck about Evan’s story, but he just couldn’t. The whole ‘orphaned-at-a-young-age-and-forced-to-fend-for-myself’ shit was too common around the world and he could only hear it so many times before being bored to absolute fucking death.

When Marty wrapped up the tale, Victor almost shouted a hallelujah. There was nothing interesting about the kid’s background and he was ready to get some serious fucking done.

“So, that’s all I know, Mr. Creed,” Marty said.

“It ain’t all ya know, Marty,” Victor purred as he pushed the other man’s towards his hard cock, “so why doncha show me what you do know?”

The man did just that.

~*~*~

Victor didn’t leave the comfort of Marty’s arms until well into the next afternoon. The smaller man was satisfied and exhausted, happy to be left luxuriating in the afterglow of being thoroughly fucked. Victor had promised to send Jasmine up with food and drink so that Marty could recover for the upcoming night he had planned.

He wasn’t able to find Jasmine, but he found the plump serving girl, who was more than happy to do as he asked. Victor rewarded the girl by letting her suck his cock. She seemed much more experienced at that task than what they had done yesterday, so he had no complaints.

Once that was done, Victor stepped outside to enjoy one of his cigars. He went around the bordello where it backed into the forest so he could enjoy the view and the scents of the pine and tall grass. Maybe catch of glimpse of something to hunt later.

What he managed to catch was Evan and Jasmine in an intimate embrace underneath the back stairs that led to the upstairs hallway. The kid had had his hands at the girl’s waist and she had her arms wrapped around his neck, their lips locked in a heated kiss.

Jasmine broke the kiss, pulling away only slightly. “Please, Evan,” she pleaded softly. “I want –“

Evan placed a finger over her lips. “Shhh,” he whispered. He captured her mouth in another kiss, slowly backing her so that she was pressed up against the wall of the bordello. “Lift your dress.”

Jasmine did as she was bid, lifting her dress until Evan pressed his knee between her legs, spreading them wider. “Evan,” she gasped as he slipped his hand beneath the raised hem.

He pressed against her, kissing the side of her neck gently. She whimpered as he began to stroke her, her young body trembling under the sensations that were shooting through her. “Feel good?” Evan murmured, nipping Jasmine’s earlobe.

“Y-yes,” she groaned as her hands convulsed on his shoulders. “Oh, Evan. Please!”

Victor could smell the girl’s arousal beginning to spike; she was close to orgasm. He’d always loved the scent of a woman’s climax, that tang of come and bodily juices; but it was that precious moment before the orgasm that was his favourite. The way her sweat would mix with the sweetness of her pheromones…Heat shot through him, electrifying his animal senses.

Evan seized Jasmine’s mouth in a passionate kiss as the girl began to tremble violently against him, her orgasm overtaking her. He muffled her cries with his mouth, his tongue delving deeply until she stopped shaking.

Suddenly, Jasmine’s knees gave out and he caught her with a laugh. “You all right?” Evan asked, stroking one cheek with his hand.

“I think I saw stars.” Jasmine panted. The kid chuckled and held her until she was able to stand of her own volition. He helped her adjust her dress before backing away, straightening his own clothes while she watched him. “When can we meet again?”

“Jasmine, we can’t make this a thing. The more we do it, the more likely we’ll get caught, an’ you know Madame O don’t like it when staff is messin’ around,” Evan’s voice was firm but then Jasmine’s face fell and so did the kid’s resolve. He caught her hand in his own and squeezed it gently. “Coupla days, okay?"

Her face lit up and she leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on Evan’s lips before climbing up the stairs. He watched Jasmine go, rubbing his eyes with his fists as soon as the door banged shut behind her.

“Jesus Christ, girl,” Evan muttered, “you’re in for a world of hurt.”

Victor chuckled to himself as the kid wandered into the forest on a well worn trail that led down to the river. Then it hit him: the girl’s hand was no longer broken. She had gripped and groped Evan as if it hadn’t been hurt at all.

There was absolutely no way that Jasmine’s hand had not been broken after that slap. So why was it suddenly fine as if nothing happened? Had he been mistaken?

Victor growled and stuffed the cigar back into his jacket pocket. Things were fucked up around here and he planned on getting to the bottom of it – but not before he found that plump serving girl and showed her how to put that pussy to good use.

~*~*~

The evening was turning out to be a relaxing one for Victor; he’d had that serving girl mewling and groaning and her pussy squeezing his cock like a goddamn professional earlier that afternoon, and now he was looking forward to a long and lusty night with Marty.

Victor was just cutting into his bloody steak when Madame O approached his table. “Mr, Creed,” she said, “forgive me for disturbing you, but have you seen or spoken with Martin recently?”

“Nope,” he replied. “Got a night planned with him, though. Paid for.”

“Of course,” Madame O said quickly. “It’s only that he was supposed to start at the bar thirty minutes ago. He hasn’t shown, so I assumed he might be in your company.”

“Last time I saw Marty was this mornin’,” Victor said. 

Madame O pursed her lips and glanced over his head towards where Jasmine was busy wiping down empty tables. “He’s never done anything like this before.”

Victor put a piece of steak in his mouth and chewed. “Could be runnin’ late with a customer.”

“He had no one booked for the day except for you,” she said, her voice concerned. Madame O wrung her hands. “Evan is checking the property. Oh, I do hope nothing bad has happened. Marty’s been drawing some unwanted attention lately; he can be a bit flamboyant.”

The large blonde man took a few seconds to cast his gaze around the establishment. It was full of regular clientele: trappers, traders, hunters, and a few clergymen. His eyes set on a particular figure – the fine-featured man who had been sitting with Stanley Pointer that morning. “Who’s that?”

Madame O looked towards where Victor had indicated. “Jacques Philippe, a Quebecois fur trapper and trader."

“One o’ Pointer’s cronies?”

Madame O’s body went completely still. “Yes.”

“They close, Pointer and Philippe?”

“You don’t normally see one without the other.”

Victor dabbed at his mouth with a napkin and stood, his chair tipping to the floor with a clatter. Madame O stayed behind as Victor strode over to where Philippe was seated, playing cards with a few other men. Three of them looked up at Victor’s approach, but the trapper kept his eyes on his cards.

“Que veux-tu?” The French-Canadian’s voice held a ‘don’t fuck with me’ quality, which was too damn bad because Victor was in the mood for fucking with the guy.

Victor swept the cards off the table, sending the chips clattering to the floor. It got Philippe’s attention; the man looked up at Creed with hard brown eyes. “Where’s Pointer?” 

The trapper shrugged as the three other men slowly got up from their chairs and hastened past Madame O and out the door. “I’m not ‘is keeper." Creed bent low over the table so he could see eye to eye with the man. “I know otherwise. Yer here so he ain’t far behind. Tell me an’ I’ll spare yer pretty French face.”

Jacques sighed and laid his cards on the table. Three eights over a pair of twos. Not a bad hand. “I don’ know where ‘e is,” he said, a smug smile on his face. “Even if I did, why would I tell you, faggot?”

The room fell silent and the trapper’s face twitched as if he was trying not to laugh. He thought that the slur had threatened Victor’s manhood, hurt him somehow, but honestly, Victor didn’t give a shit. He could smell the lie coming from Jacques as easily as he could smell meat burning on the grill.

Victor stood and stepped close to the Quebecois trapper, bumping his shins on the chair where the man sat, putting his crotch even with his face. “I can smell ya lyin’ pretty boy, an’ I ain’t in the mood fer it. Tell me where yer buddy is or I’ll beat ya so hard you’ll be shittin’ teeth fer a week.”

He lengthened his claws a touch to let Philippe know he wasn’t fucking around. The French-Canadian’s eyes darted back and forth between Creed and the door, as if he was expecting someone to burst through and rescue him – or maybe thinking that he could make a dash for it. Victor wiggled his fingers slightly and smiled wide enough to show his canines, daring Jacques to run.

A few seconds ticked by. Sweat began to bead in Philippe’s hairline as he eyed the blonde man’s claws and teeth; Creed breathed in the scent of the other man’s fear, basking in it. A few more seconds ticked by. The French-Canadian’s face started to crumble – he was going to talk.

As soon as the trapper’s mouth opened, Evan burst in from the back, face flushed with rage. “Found Marty,” he growled. “It ain’t good; I need someone t’ help me move him,” Jasmine stepped forward but Evan waved her back. “It’s not a sight for a lady. It’s – it’s bad.”

Victor backhanded Philippe, sending the man to the floor hard enough to knock him out, blood leaking from his mouth. “I’ll deal with him later, Madame O. Get one o’ the girls that’s good with knots an’ tie this bastard up,” He turned to Evan. “I’ll help, kid. Show me.”

Everyone was silent as Victor followed the solemn-faced kid down the back hall and out of the side door. As soon as they were outside, he immediately picked up the scent of blood, pain, and semen. Victor was used to seeing people in all sorts of states: half-dead, all dead, pieces missing. He didn’t like that someone had hurt Marty; he barely knew the guy, but he was a hell of a fuck and really did have the tightest ass in Alberta.

Evan wasn’t talking but Victor could tell how angry he was by the way his small fists clenched and unclenched as he walked. They followed a path that wound out down by the river, but the kid stopped by a clearing and motioned Creed forward.

Marty lay there, his face swollen, eyes crusted shut with blood. He was bleeding from a multitude of wounds, the worst being a slice across his throat. Victor noticed a cloth was bound around that injury; Evan must have done it to stem the blood.

“He was raped too,” Evan said softly as he knelt by his friend. “The fucker took from him forcefully what he coulda paid for,” Marty moaned as the kid stroked the man’s cheek gently. “Ssshhh, Marty. I brought Mr. Creed to help.”

The injured man’s black eyes cracked slightly as he tried to look up at the large blonde man. His voice sounded relieved as he tried to mumble something that sounded like Victor's name through a mouthful of broken teeth. 

“Don’t talk, Marty,” Creed said gruffly. “I’m gonna pick ya up an’ it’s gonna hurt like hell. If ya gotta scream, do it. No one’ll judge you.”

He knelt by the man’s body and carefully slid an arm under his head, the other under his knees. Marty’s neck didn’t feel broken, but his right leg was twisted, his foot facing the wrong direction. Most of his fingers were broken, his left elbow smashed to the point that it was a mess of bone and blood.

Marty’s face was the worst. His beautiful mouth was practically caved in over cracked and missing teeth, his nose crushed flat over his shattered cheekbones. Semen was splattered across the man’s ruined face, mixed with the blood. 

Once the fucker had bashed Marty senseless and raped him, he’d taken the time to ejaculate on Marty’s busted face. 

“Get him back to the bordello,” Evan said. “I’m gonna find Pointer, then I’ll be back to help Marty.” The kid was gone in a flash, running fast back towards the street.

Victor counted to three and lifted Marty as gently as he could, but the man shrieked himself hoarse before Creed had taken no more than five steps. There was no way the man was going to survive; his injuries were too severe and there was no way the nurse Madame O kept was going to have the proper supplies or training to deal with this kind of damage.

Victor thought of setting Marty back down and finishing it – just ending the man’s pain and suffering, putting him down like a wounded animal. He’d killed before and it certainly didn’t bother him to kill again, even it was someone he liked fucking. But somehow, Victor found himself following Evan’s orders, despite the fact that the smell of blood and pain was making him hungry, making him see red, pushing him further towards animal.

Madame O was shocked when Victor came striding into the bordello with Marty in his arms, but he had to hand it to the frail – she didn’t pass out. She’d gotten the nurse, a pinched-faced older woman with arms like a cowhand and the no-nonsense attitude of someone who had seen and dealt with a lot of shit. Victor and Madame followed the nurse down a back hallway to a medium sized room that housed two cots, a large cabinet, a large table that looked like it had been through a war, and a working sink. The nurse went to the sink and washed her hands and arms thoroughly while instructing Madame O to spread a sheet on the table and for Victor to put Marty down as soon as Madame was done.

“This doesn’t look good,” the nurse said to Madame. “If he lives through the night, I’d be surprised.”

“I’ve sent for the doctor.” Madame replied, wringing her hands.

“Nancy Thurman’s been about to burst with that baby,” the nurse said. “It’s possible he’s with her. If you’re a praying woman, I’d get to it right quick.”

Madame O raised a hand to her mouth, tears glittering in her eyes. That was enough for Victor. Pain, blood, suffering – those were things he knew how to handle. A crying frail? He wasn’t equipped to deal with the tears of a woman who wasn’t underneath him, a woman who was feeling his anger and torment pounded into her by way of sex.

Victor left silently and went back to the eating area, straightening his cuffs as he did so. If Evan couldn’t find Pointer, he would.

He wasn’t kidding when he came here looking for someone stupid and wicked – or if he put it in tastier terms: prey. Pointer had walked unknowingly into the jaws of a monster. 

A monster named Victor Creed.

~*~*~

Jasmine was standing by the dining room window, her hands twisted in worry as Victor strode into the room. Again he puzzled over why the fuck her right hand wasn’t busted to shit, but a cry from the street caught his attention. She spared him a glance but quickly turned her eyes back to the commotion outside.

Victor pushed through the heavy door into the late daylight and joined the crowd of men that had gathered in a circle. 

Evan had Pointer in the dirt, one hand fisted in the collar of the man’s filthy shirt, other fist poised to strike. Stan looked like he’d walked through a meat grinder, his face torn and bloody, his nose splattered over his cheek. His right eye was beginning to blacken. The kid didn’t have a single mark.

“You sick son of bitch,” Evan snarled, bringing his fist down on the other man’s face with a sickening crack. “That’s my friend you did that to. My friend!” 

He landed two more blows before Stan began to sob, a wet stain spreading over the front of his trousers. The kid let the man’s shirt go and he plopped to the dirt inelegantly, crying like a baby. 

“Don’t you ever think about darkenin’ this doorstep again, Stanley Pointer,” Evan growled, kicking the snivelling man in the stomach. “I see you sniffin’ around, I’ll kill you, understand?”

The blubbering man choked out an answer that seemed to please Evan, who took a step back, pulled two teeth out of the flesh his hand and tossed them down beside Pointer. Then the kid snorted deep in the back of his throat and spat on the man for good measure. 

Pointer rolled over, sobbing into the dirt, and Evan placed a booted foot on the back of the man’s head and pushed down, grinding his face into the dirt and gravel of the street. The man started flailing, unable to breathe, but the kid kept stomping Pointer’s face into the grime until he was satisfied. With the sweep of his leg, Evan kicked Stanley in the side once, twice, three times before turning and walking back into the bordello. Victor watched him go, his groin tightening, heat curling firm in his belly. 

“Shit, I never get tired of seen’ that kid scrap,” said a clergyman who was next to Victor.

“Ain’t that old, either,” said a geezer. “Fifteen, I heard.”

“Sixteen, I think,” said the priest.

The geezer snorted. “Who the fuck cares? Hell of a fighter. Never seen him with a wound, neither.”

The man of the cloth agreed. “Never needed stitches, far as I can remember. No bruises, nothin’.”

Stanley Pointer, moaning in pain, had managed to get to his knees, blood, saliva, and snot dripping from his face. His dirt and blood caked face was streaked with the tracks of his tears, some of which were leaking from his swollen right eye. He put a hand to his obviously broken cheek and spat out a tooth.

“What th’ fuck did that guy do?” a red bearded man asked the priest as Stanley got unsteadily to his feet.

“Got one o’ Madame O’s guys alone, beat him,” the man replied, his eyes following Stanley as he staggered away. “Fucked ‘im up pretty good too.”

“Martin, I think,” the geezer supplied. “Damn shame. That guy had the tightest ass.”

The crowd began to disperse and Victor stepped towards the scene of the fight, the footprints still scuffed into the ground, blood beginning to get sucked into the thirsty dirt. He spotted the two teeth that Evan had plucked from the back of his hand like they were nothing but a minor annoyance and picked them up, clutching them like a talisman. Slowly, he eased the teeth into the pocket of his coat.

As Victor turned towards the door, he caught Jasmine’s eye. The girl had her face set in a stony expression. She looked at Victor’s pocket, the one where his hand clutched the teeth, and nodded solemnly. 

Victor smiled at her.

~*~*~

“Just go away!” Victor heard Evan’s voice yelling from the nurse’s room. “I know what I’m doing!”

“You listen here, boy,” the nurse’s voice was equally angry. “You are not a doctor and you are not a nurse. I can take better care of this man than you.” 

“You keep sayin’ he’s gonna die! How’s that helpful?” Evan was desperate now, practically pleading. “Please, let me stay with him. He’s my friend!”

“Evan –“ began Madame O, but Victor cut her off as soon as he walked through the door.

“Let the kid stay, Olive,” he said. “It ain’t gonna do no harm. ‘Sides, you’d be better out on the floor, keepin’ the customers and th’ girls calm. I’ll keep an eye on th’ kid.”

Madame O wrung her hands as she looked at Marty, who was now wrapped up like a mummy and laid out on one of the cots. Her face was unsure; she wanted to stay with him, bring him comfort. Victor crossed to her and took one of her hands in his.

“Olive,” he said, “You know I’m right. You’re strong enough an’ the staff needs that right now. They need their leader.”

She took one more look at the bartender, straightened her dress, and left the room with her head held high. Victor watched her go before turning back to look at Evan.

The kid held one of Marty’s hands and had his forehead pressed to the mattress, the top of his head touching the bartender’s side gently. Victor could hear Evan’s breathing as his fingers stroked the back of the other man’s mangled hand. He knew the kid was trying hard not to cry.

The nurse went over and checked Marty’s pulse, then gave the large blonde man the shake of her head. She didn’t have to; the man’s heartbeat was weak and stuttering, his breathing ragged due to the blood in his lungs. Marty wouldn’t last the night.

“I shoulda killed ‘im,” Evan was whispering into the blanket that covered the unconscious man. “I shoulda killed ‘im.” 

The boy kept repeating those words over and over until Victor couldn’t stand it any longer. Evan’s grief was touching something inside of him and he didn’t quite like it. He wasn’t an emotional man, not prone to fits of tears or feelings of misery. His childhood taught him that there was no room for softness in his life; he needed to be hardest, be the strongest, be the toughest. Victor had to be a killer. 

He let the nurse know he’d be back in a bit and went to find Madame O. She was in the front area with a smile on her face, continuing business as usual. The girls and staff continued to operate around her as if nothing had happened. A brutish looking man had taken the stool by the front door, obviously one of the other bouncers. 

Victor gripped Madame’s elbow firmly as he stepped up to her. “Where’s Philippe?”

“Tied up out back,” she responded quietly, perking up when a familiar customer came through the entrance. “Thomas, so lovely to see you!” 

Victor let her go and went towards the door he knew would lead him out the side, where Evan had taken him to find Marty. When he came around the back, it took a few seconds for Victor to find the French-Canadian trapper – he had struggled enough that he’d managed to tip himself onto his side.

The large blonde could smell the trapper’s fear as he came closer; it was like an aphrodisiac. He’d gone without the kill for too long – the beast inside was hungry. With a growl, he grabbed Philippe with one hand and tilted his chair upright, setting him down roughly in the dirt.

Philippe’s brown eyes were no longer hard; they were terrified. Sweat dripped from his face, blood speckling his cheek from when Victor had hit him earlier. The blood made Victor’s vision go red for a moment, his sharp incisors sliding out from between his lips. The trapper began to struggle in earnest; tears dripping unbidden down his face.

Victor lengthed his claws and brought them to his face, admiring how sharp they looked in the evening sun. “Didja know what your pal was gonna do?”

“N-non,” Philippe stammered, his eyes also on Victor claws. “Je ne savais pas!”

Victor bent down, bringing his claws closer to the man’s throat. “See, I think yer lyin’ an’ you wanna know why?”

The trapper’s eyes were as big as saucers, watering profusely. He nodded slowly, swallowing loudly as one claw nicked his Adam’s apple. Victor chuckled as he watched the bright red rivulet of blood trickle down and disappear under the collar of the man’s shirt.

Victor pushed his face so it was barely an inch away from Philippe’s, as if they were about to kiss. “Because I can smell it on ya, Frenchie,” he whispered, his voice menacing. “You knew exactly what yer buddy was doin’ an’ you did nothing to stop it. An’ no one’s gonna stop me from what I’m gonna do.”

Philippe began to sob in earnest. “Please don’ kill me! I know what ‘e do. Désolé, désolé. I ‘ave children, m’seiur! Spare my life!”

Victor loved it when they begged. It tickled something deep within him; like that person was the first to plead for his or her wretched existence, like Victor was a man who would listen to such bullshit and change his mind to spare the fucking waste of space.

On the other hand, the beast was howling for a hunt and Philippe would make excellent prey. The man was a tracker and a hunter; he’d know his way around these woods. It would make the chase more…exciting. 

His claws sliced through the rope easily and Philippe stood immediately, his face a mask of surprise. As he was rubbing circulation back into his hands, Victor said, “Get out o’ here. As far away as possible.”

“Merci, merci.” Philippe began to bow ridiculously as he backed away from the blonde man.

“If I find ya in the woods tonight, I’m gonna gut ya like tha coward ya are.” Victor said, extending all of his claws at once.

The trapper hesitated and Victor took that moment to leap at him with a roar, slashing threateningly. With a hoarse scream, Jacques Philippe fled into the forest, leaving behind a scent trail of terror.

Victor breathed it in, letting it coat the bottom of his lungs. He hadn’t felt this alive in a while.

~*~*~

Evan seemed like he was asleep when Victor came back into the nurse’s room. He stirred as the larger man came close, sitting up with difficulty. 

“You look like shit,” Victor said gruffly. “Let’s get ya something to eat.”

Evan cast his green eyes over the slumbering form of Marty. To Victor’s surprise, the battered man was actually beginning to look better; he couldn’t hear blood rattling in the man’s lungs and his face seemed a bit less shattered than before. Maybe it’d been the shadows playing tricks with his eyes. 

“Yeah, okay.” Evan went to stand but he wobbled on his feet. Victor managed to catch him before he tumbled onto the cot. 

It was the first time Victor had laid hands on the kid and a sizzle of scorching heat shot up his arm and wrapped around his arm, setting it ablaze and knocking the air from his lungs. Evan started, like he felt it too, and moved closer to him, their clothes brushing as they gasped for breath. Victor almost growled – the kid smelled of Stanley Pointer’s blood and nothing else. No scent, not even this fucking close.

“Sorry,” Evan muttered as he backed away, his cheeks faintly pink. “Wearier than I thought.”

Victor released the boy and followed him to the dining room, just in case the kid went down again. It was late now, nearing nine, though the sun hadn’t given thought to the idea of setting. Evan pulled a hand rolled cigarette from his pocket and lit it with a match that he left on the table. He took a deep draw and let the smoke drift around his face. It nearly covered the exhaustion that was there.

“Ya did a good job out there, kid,” Victor said, a touch of admiration in his voice. 

Evan shrugged. “I don’t like people judgin’ others. Ain’t none of us got the right. Marty’s a good guy an’ that’s what should count, not th’ fact he likes t’ take it up th’ ass.” 

He shrugged out of his jacket just as Jasmine came towards the pair with a basin of warm water and a clean cloth. “For your hands, Evan,” she said, blushing prettily as the kid smiled at her. “Do you need a clean shirt? I can get you one.”

“Nah,” Evan said. “Not much blood, see? I’ll just dab it with th’ water. Thanks, Jasmine.”

She collected the spent match. “Can I get you two some supper? There’s leftover stew and I made bread this morning.”

“Sounds great. You gotta try Jasmine’s bread, Mr. Creed; it’s the best I’ve ever had. She’ll make some lucky man a great wife one day.” Evan’s grin was brilliant but forced, as if he didn’t want the girl to see how fatigued he was.

Her blush deepened and practically fled once Victor agreed to the meal. Evan tucked the cigarette in the corner of his mouth and set to rolling up his shirtsleeves before dipping his hands in the water. It turned a sickly pink colour that became darker as Evan scrubbed at the dried stains with the cloth.

“You got an admirer,” Victor said, tilting his head to where the girl had gone.

Evan plucked the cigarette from his mouth and gave a lopsided smile. “Yeah,” he said, his green eyes lighting up. “Jasmine’s sweet, but she’s still a girl. Doesn’t know what she wants yet.”

Victor leaned back, pulling a silver cigarette case from the inside pocket of his jacket. He accepted a lit match from Evan and blew out a cloud of smoke. “Seemed like she knew what she wanted earlier this afternoon when you two were behind the bordello,” he said, watching Evan’s eyes widen.

The boy’s whole body stilled and he raised those green eyes to lock onto Victor’s amber ones. “She’s a good girl, Mr. Creed,” Evan said quietly. “I wouldn’t do nothin’ to tarnish her reputation.”

Victor continued to look at the kid, amused by how he managed to keep eye contact with the larger man. It was almost a challenge. Almost. It started a small fire in Victor’s veins. This boy would’ve been a fine alpha. He took another drag from his cigarette.

“I’ll pay ya to keep quiet,” Evan began. “I’ve got –“

“Save it, kid,” Victor drawled. “I ain’t interested in tattlin’ and I don’t want your money. Jus’ be more careful about it, huh?”

Evan was still suspicious but he nodded slowly and dried his hands on his trousers. Jasmine came back with a tray laden with food: stew, bread, two rare steaks, baked potatoes oozing with hand-churned butter, and a bottle of whiskey. Good whiskey, not the shit that was at the bar.

“It’s from Madame’s personal stash,” Jasmine gushed as she gathered the basin and cloth. “She wants to thank you for helping with Marty.”

Just as she was about to turn away, Victor caught the girl’s left wrist. Evan stiffened as Jasmine turned to the large blonde man with a puzzled expression.

“Something wrong, Mr. Creed?” she asked, her eyes flicking to Evan and back. “Jus’ wonderin’ ‘bout that hand o’ yours,” he said slyly. “Seems t’ me you broke it on Pointer’s ugly face, but it don’t look no worse for th’ wear.”

Jasmine quickly glanced at her right hand, a flush working over her chest, her lips moving soundlessly. Evan jumped to his feet, turning the girl towards the kitchen, giving her a small push.

“Wasn’t broken,” he said abruptly. “I had a look; nothin’ wrong with it.”

Victor hummed in interest, but let it drop, amused by the expression on the kid’s face. He couldn’t smell it, but he knew it was a lie.

As Evan sat, Victor poured himself and the kid each a shot before they both dug into the meal. He was hungry but Evan was ravenous, stuffing more chow into his mouth before swallowing what was already in there. It was like he hadn’t eaten in a week. Between bites, the kid tossed back shot after shot of whiskey like it was water and he was a dehydrated horse that had finished crossing a desert.

“Jesus, kid,” Victor laughed, “slow the hell down. You’re gonna choke.”

Evan looked up, his mouth packed with steak, potato, and bread, cheeks swollen like a greedy chipmunk’s. He chewed slowly and swallowed until he was able to open his mouth to take a breath. “Hungry,” was all he said before taking another drink of whiskey.

Victor pushed away his empty plate and lit up another cigarette. “Y’know, you talk about the girl bein’ just a kid, but you ain’t much more than a kid yourself. You know what you want?”

“Sure do, sir.” Evan replied, pouring Victor another whiskey.

“Got it all figured out, huh?” Victor watched the kid pour another shot for himself.

“Yessir,” Evan lifted his glass in a toast. “To figurin’ it all out.”

“I’ll drink t’ that.” Victor couldn’t help but laugh as the pair clinked glasses before tossing the alcohol down his throat.

~*~*~

During the summer, true dark in Alberta didn’t come until eleven o’clock at night, the sun taking its sweet time to make sure every single thing across the prairie province got soaked with its rays. It was almost as if the sun were apologizing for the short winter days, when it would rise, spend a few hours, then get the hell out of shit town.

The long days could make hunting difficult, but Victor could be patient when he wanted to be – and tonight, he was feeling extremely patient.

The first kill had been glorious; Jacques Philippe had screamed shrill and loud and long as Victor gutted the man like a deer, his blood splashing over the trees, ebony spots shining bright in the rays of the setting sun.

Victor ate some of the organs, something that Jimmy had hated him doing. But this was his kill, his meat, and he was going to partake. Why waste the good stuff? Once he was done, he pissed on the carcass – and also jerked off on it, for good measure – then left it for the scavengers. 

Philippe had made it far enough away from town that Victor figured that the body wouldn’t be discovered for months, possibly even years, and by then, it would have been picked clean.

Licking the last of the blood from his lips, Victor dipped his hand back into his jacket pocket, feeling the teeth that were still there – the ones Evan had plucked from the back of his hand. The kid had messed Pointer up pretty good, so he knew that the injured man couldn’t have gotten far – and he was right. Thanks to the teeth, and the fact he stank of piss, following Pointer’s scent had been relatively easy. 

The man had only gotten about an hour out of town and Victor found him singing loudly, pissing against a tree. The area was fairly secluded – it was one of the lesser-used trails in and out of town – and it looked like the man was comfortable enough to bed down for the night. Pointer’s bedroll was out, a few supplies from his pack scattered around.

Victor was content to watch Stanley from a tree about 100 metres away. The man was getting ready for bed and despite his swollen and aching face, he seemed like he didn’t have a care in the world. It pleased Victor to see the piece of shit feeling safe; it made the hunt more exciting if the prey was lulled into a false sense of security.

He was surprised by the crack of a branch and Pointer jumped slightly, a few splatters of urine wetting his trousers. Victor muttered to himself, angry that the sound had made him start, almost revealing his hiding place.

“Shit,” the man muttered as he stuffed his dick back into his pants. It wasn’t as if it mattered – he already stank of urine thanks to losing control of his bladder after the fight – but it was one more thing that Stanley Pointer didn’t fucking need. Victor smiled.

There was another crack, followed by footsteps. Shaking the leg of his ruined pants, Pointer turned towards the sound. “Th’ fuck are ya doin’ here?” the man mumbled through his distended jaw. It was a show of false bravado; Victor could smell Stanley’s fear. “Din’ get enough?” 

The hiss of a match and a flicker of flame followed the man’s question. “Jus’ makin’ sure yer leaving.” The voice caressed Victor’s thighs and made his cock jump in his trousers: Evan.

But it couldn’t be the kid; there was no fucking way he could have found Pointer. Not only that, the boy had passed out after dinner and Victor had left him sound asleep in the cot next to Marty’s. 

Stanley flinched back as Evan stepped closer. The kid flicked the ash of his cigarette towards the larger man, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, yeah,” the man slurred, turning his back on Evan and dropping to his knees by his bedroll. “Don’t worry; I ain’t coming back.”

“Glad to hear it.” Evan said, taking a drag on his cigarette.

Stanley ignored the kid for a moment, but then Victor saw a terrible smile creep over the man’s face. He slowly turned his head towards Evan and said in a contemptible voice, “How’s th’ faggot?”

The kid closed his lips around his cigarette and stepped forward. “His name is Martin Gagnon, you sick fuck.”

Pointer didn’t have time to reply before Evan grabbed the man’s head and gave it a sharp twist, the crack of his neck ricocheting through the woods like a gunshot. The body flopped soundlessly to the dirt, arms and legs sprawling gracelessly.

The kid smoked for a few minutes before crouching next to the corpse, placing two fingers against the side of its neck. Satisfied there was no pulse, the kid continued to smoke his cigarette, his eyes fixed on the body’s startled face.

Once Evan had taken the last puff, he ground the cigarette out on the stiff’s forehead before tucking the stub into his pocket. Quickly, he tore the bedroll into pieces with his own hands and tossed them into the woods, rifled through the dead man’s belongings, tucked everything back into the pack before slinging it over his shoulder. Crouching once more, Evan picked the body up by the waist and flung it over his shoulder, much as he had the backpack.

And the kid had done it all with ease.

Victor should’ve been pissed that his prey had been picked off, taken by another, but both he and the beast couldn’t help but be electrified. He hadn’t even sensed the kid approach – the crack of the branches should have been a clue, but there had been no scent; wildlife downwind, Victor had thought, or the breeze. It certainly wouldn’t have been the way Victor would have killed, but it had been remarkable all the same. Not only that, the display of savagery of strength had made Victor as hard as a rock.

Want.

The burning desire he’d felt for Evan intensified, the need growing deeper, almost into his bones. Victor slid down the tree and followed the kid deeper into the woods.

It was time to take what he wanted.

~*~*~

Night had blanketed its darkness over the sky as Victor continued to stalk Evan through the forest. The kid walked for a good forty-five minutes without rest and by the time he came to a stop and dropped the body, night had well and truly fallen. 

Victor didn’t need a lot of light to see; the stars provided more than enough brightness, almost as if the sun were still high in the sky. He was beginning to suspect Evan was the same, as the kid had had no trouble traversing the unmarked trail. He also had no trouble picking helpful items out of the dead man’s pack and pocketing them for future use: a knife, a comb, a mirror, a few shirts, and lastly, an impressive wad of cash. 

Evan whistled at the lump he held in his hand, running his thumb over the bills before stuffing them inside a pocket. He stood and studied the corpse for a minute before nudging it towards a granite cliff that was dotted with sparse pine.

With a grunt, Evan shoved Stanley Pointer’s corpse down the cliff and watched as it cart wheeled over the rocks and stone before flying out into the air, dropping straight down into a dark crevice without a sound.

The kid picked up Pointer’s pack and considered it, turning it around in his hands. Instead of adding it to his pile of ill-gotten gains, Evan weighed down the sack and pitched it off the cliff where it followed the trajectory of the body.

Crouching, the kid rummaged around in one of his pockets and brought out the cigar Victor had given him earlier and the pocketknife he had snagged from Pointer’s sack. He cut the cigar expertly and brought it to his nose to appreciate the smell. Evan tucked the cigar securely in his mouth and lit it before crouching down, looking at where the body had gone.

Evan squatted in silence for a while, enjoying the cigar and the starlight. Victor enjoyed watching the boy as the aromatic smoke curled into the air and how every pull from the kid’s small mouth lit up his features in a reddish-orange glow. He looked like a demon; Victor revelled in it.

“No one’ll miss you, Stanley Pointer, you son of a bitch,” Evan said as he stood, stubbed out his smoke and placed it in his pocket. “When you get t’ Hell, tell my bastard husband I said it’s too good of a place for a fucker like ‘im.”

Victor’s ears perked up. Did he hear that last part correctly? Before he could gather his thoughts, Evan began ambling off further into the forest. Victor followed eagerly.

~*~*~

Victor stalked Evan for another hour before the kid stopped by a creek. He went to his knees and scooped water into his mouth thirstily. When sated, he leaned back, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

With a sigh, the kid shucked off his jacket and cap, rolling them up to use as a pillow before laying back in the grass, hands tucked behind his head, eyes fixed on the sky. With the starlight shining across his face, Evan looked far younger than his sixteen years. Almost like a child, really, Victor thought as he watched from a tree.

If Victor had been a different man, he’d have wondered why such a young kid would murder another man in cold blood without a second thought. If Victor had been a different man, he would had felt sorry that life had made the kid so hard at so young an age.

But Victor was who he was, and he’d known blood and violence and death and murder since he was a boy, younger and smaller than Evan. It hadn’t fazed him to see those small hands break the neck of the larger man. Pointer certainly hadn’t been helpless, but he hadn’t stood a chance.

Slowly, silently, Victor slipped down from the tree, going low in the grass, his eyes fixed on Evan. The kid stood and stretched before slipping off the suspenders attached to his trousers.

Evan’s hands moved leisurely to the buttons of his shirt, beginning at the bottom. Victor was salivating by the time the third one popped open.  
He loped towards the kid quietly, keeping down. The kid was working on the fourth when Victor slammed into him, riding him to the ground.

The boy hit the dirt with a grunt, face first, the wind knocked out of him. Victor clenched Evan’s shoulders, gripping the kid’s legs tight with his thighs. The body felt amazing under him as Evan gasped for breath, fire burning from his brain to his groin. He leaned back, ready to let the beast howl, wanting the world to know that it’d found his prey; it was going to stake its claim. But before he could release his triumph, Evan did something Victor wasn’t expecting: he laughed.

“Was wonderin’ when you’d make a move, Mr Creed,” Evan said, his voice muffled. “Was followin’ me for a long time.”

Victor growled, placing his large hand on the back of the kid’s head, claws extended. “How’d you know it was me?”

Evan turned his head to the side and spat out some dirt. “Could smell you from a mile away,” the kid replied. 

“You can smell me?”

“Yeah, smells like wood smoke and lightning,” Evan licked his lips. “Dangerous; I like it.”

Victor removed his hand from the kid’s head, placing it back on his shoulder to keep him pinned. He leaned down and buried his nose in Evan’s hair, travelling to the kid’s hairline and down to the back of his neck. The kid’s breath hitched, but he kept as still as a fucking statue.

“You ain’t got no scent,” he said gruffly. 

“I like to keep it a secret,” Evan said, a smile evident in his voice. “Makes me invisible to certain people.”

Victor’s nose was still pressed against the kid’s neck and a sense of urgent desire came over him. He dragged his rough tongue over the skin where the shoulder and neck connected. Evan shivered with delight, a small moan escaping his lips. Then Victor opened his mouth and let his canines scrape against the same spot, close to where the pulse fluttered. Evan lifted his head with a snarl.

There was no mistaking that noise – it was a warning, a caution that the kid would attack if Victor put his teeth too close to the vulnerable area. It confirmed what he had been thinking: Evan was a feral.

It explained why he could take on someone larger, why he could leave a scrap without a mark on him, the strange, graceful way he moved why he could find his way through the forest in the dark, why he called so strongly to Victor’s beast even though there had been no identifying scent. It also explained why Evan had no problem holding Victor’s gaze. The kid was a fucking alpha.

Feral could recognize feral. Victor rumbled from deep in his chest as he nipped at Evan’s earlobe. The kid responded in kind, the sound reverberating through the larger man, causing him to moan lightly. He started kneading Evan’s shoulders, the claws pricking through the fabric of the kid’s shirt.

“You know what I am, dontcha?” Victor asked quietly, his breath ghosting Evan’s ear.

“No,” the kid answered, “but somethin’ ‘bout you calls t’ me,”

“You’re like me,” Victor purred. “You’re strong, you like killin’. You heal too, dontcha? Didn’t see any marks on you after your scuffle with Pointer. You like blood, kid? Stalkin’ prey through the woods, the sweetness of takin’ it down, tearin’ into it –“ 

“Yes,” Evan murmured.

“We’re wild fuckin’ animals, you an’ me. Ferals. Alphas. Strong. Normally alphas don’t like each other. Instincts an’ shit, y’know? Territorial. We got primal urges too, like th’ need t’ fuck,” One of Victor’s hands went back to Evan’s head, his fingers stroking through the soft hair. “I like you, kid. Stole my prey though, so ya owe me.”

“Got money,” Evan said. “Inside jacket pocket.”

“Don’t want your money,” Victor replied, his claws pricking the skin on the back of the kid’s neck. “Said I like ya, so I’m gonna fuck ya. Show you what a real alpha is all about.”

The kid tensed underneath him as Victor rocked his hips forward, his erection bumping against the kid’s ass. “I’ll take you back t’ the bordello,” Evan’s voice was calm, at odds with the tautness in which he held his body. “Have one of th’ girls. I’ll pay.”

Victor ran his hands down Evan’s back. “Mmmm, temptin’ but I gotta say no, kid. Watchin’ ya kill got me all wound up an’ when I get wound up, I gotta get me some release and fast.”

Evan was quiet as the larger man’s hands went to the waistband of his trousers and began easing them down slowly, but his breathing became harsher, louder.

When the kid’s pants were around his knees, Victor leaned forward and licked the back of Evan’s neck again, making him shudder. One hand kneaded the surprisingly plump flesh of Evan’s ass as the other worked its way under the kid’s shirt.

Victor’s hand encountered something unfamiliar and he jerked his hand back. “What th’ fuck?” he growled and yanked the kid’s shirt up, ripping it along the seams. Evan growled.

It looked and felt like cloth, the kind a doctor would use for binding wounds. Victor’s fingers followed it around to Evan’s front and the kid bucked underneath him.

“Stop,” Evan hissed. “Jus’ fuck me an’ get it over with.”

“Not so fast, kid,” Victor murmured as his fingers stroked the fabric. 

He could feel the kid getting agitated. Evan did not want Victor touching the binding and that made him even more curious. He hooked a claw under the edge and pulled up, tearing the fabric.

“Don’t,” Evan squirmed under Victor, managing to dislodge the claw. “Jus’ leave it, okay?”

He traced one hand to the small of Evan’s back, over the hill of his ass, down to the apex of the kid’s thighs…

Victor hissed when he discovered what Evan had been hiding. “You clever little shit,” he growled. “You’re a woman!”

~*~*~


	2. Play Catch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that the kid's secret is revealed, Victor Creed finds himself indulging in something wild and wonderful. Maybe sticking around wasn't such a bad idea after all.
> 
> Warnings for dirty words, sexual content, violence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried a bit of back and forth between characters for this chapters because writing it from one character's POV wasn't working for me.
> 
> Please feel free to drop a line letting me know if it did or didn't work for you.

Evra Kitney wasn’t the kind of person who went looking for trouble; that didn’t mean that it didn't follow her around like a starving dog eager for a scrap of food.

Case in point, Marty’s story about Evan was mostly Evra’s, except for a few lies here and there to add colour and entertainment value.

For example, Evra had no younger brother. She was an only child born to immigrant parents, her father English, her mother Irish.

However, her father _had_ died, leaving her and her mother destitute and starving.

She _had_ been sold at thirteen by her mother to a trapper ten years her senior. Evra hadn’t been upset about it; her mother was trying to provide her daughter with a better life. She was scarcely done her first bleed and now she was a man’s wife – and her husband liked to hit.

Stories like Evra’s weren’t uncommon – they were too common, really – but what made her story different was that when Evra had finished her first bleed, she noticed changes in her body, and not the kind of changes that were typical of a woman going through puberty.

Her senses of hearing, sight, and smell became almost unbearable. Simple sounds, such as the chopping of an axe on wood, or the knife against a carcass was too much for her. Even the sound of her husband’s heartbeat was too loud, the steady _thump thump_ of his life’s muscle.

Lights were too bright, hurting her eyes, making them water. Sunlight, moonlight, firelight, it didn’t matter. Evra began to prefer the darkness; she could see perfectly and she didn’t have to worry about illumination.

Smells were a whole new world to Evra. She could tell who was approaching the cabin based on scent, she knew when her husband was going to be too drunk to hit her or not drunk enough. She knew when food was bad long before it turned; she could smell wildlife when it was close.

When the combination of these new senses overwhelmed her, she would cry and scream, hiding under the bed until her husband came home and would try to beat the devil out of her.

He became convinced that Evra was possessed by hell demons – only that could explain her new powers and the fact that any blow he would visit upon her would heal. Some would take seconds or minutes; some would take hours or days.

It wasn’t normal; she wasn’t _right_.

Her husband wanted to exorcise her himself and began shouting bible verses at her, striking her with the holy book, or tying her to the bed and raping her while speaking the word of the Lord.

When that didn’t seem to work, he began cutting her with his hunting knife, persuaded that bleeding the demons out of her would result in her cure. He dug into her veins, slashed her flesh, and carved off swaths of skin until she would beg and shriek for mercy.

He would burn her flesh in the fire, trying to send the stubborn and persistent demons back to hell where they belonged. The stench of her own skin smouldering in the flames made Evra sick; the vomiting convinced her husband that his idea was working. The demons hated having their living pelt skinned, so they tried to escape via the emptying of her stomach.

When her husband wasn’t trapping or squeezing evil incarnate from his young wife, he liked to drink heavily at the local tavern. And when he was in his cups, he would tell anyone who would listen about Evra, about how she healed every scratch, every cut, every blow.

One man finally had enough of Evra’s husband’s tall tales and uttered the two words that would change her life forever: _prove it_. The next day, her husband dragged a terrified Evra in by her long braid and deposited her in front of the man who had challenged him.

“Beat ‘er like the ugly mutt she is,” her husband spat. “Ye can try’n kill the bitch, but it seems the devil don’t even wan’ ‘er.”

The man sized up the snivelling, whimpering girl on the floor, shrugged, and dragged her outside to deliver the beating of her life. Others came out and gathered round, watching as the man thrashed Evra, using his huge fists and heavy boots to lay her to the ground again and again.

After twenty minutes, he stopped, panting and sweating, his hands and face covered in her blood. Evra was on her back in the dirt, her eyes swollen shut, sobbing from the sheer amount of pain she was in. The light behind her lids was bright white and blinding. She begged for it to go dark because at least that meant she would be dead.

She couldn’t move her left arm, her cheekbones and nose were broken, the rest of her covered in blood and bruises, scrapes and lashes from when the man had gotten tired and used his belt to whip her across the face, back, and arms.

Grunting, the man knelt next to her and pressed his hand over her chest, making sure to squeeze her developing breast tightly before his hand went still. “I’ll be fucked,” he exclaimed, turning his head to the crowd. “The bitch is still kickin’!”

The group remained quiet until Evra heard her husband walk up to her. A feeling of gratefulness washed over her; he was going to pick her up and take her home, away from this foolishness and violence.

Instead, she gagged as he stomped his foot soundly into her stomach. “You alive, girl?”

Evra groaned out a yes and the crowd went wild, jostling both the man and her husband, congratulating them on their sick victory. “You jus’ wait,” her husband crowed as they all crammed back into the tavern to drink, “she’ll be up an at ‘em in a day or two like nothin’ happened!”

She was left there in the dirt, lying in her own blood and piss like an unwanted dog. After a few minutes, her cries faded away when she realized no one was coming to help or comfort her. She was on her own. Anger exploded inside of her, making her see stars.

Evra could feel the strange tingling feeling that accompanied the healing, meaning that her body was mending as fast as it could. Her left arm and her face should have taken a few days to heal due to the severity of the injuries, but they seemed to be knitting together faster, possibly under the sheer force of rage and will that was boiling inside of her.

It only took another few minutes before she could sit up under her own power, and another five before she was able to stagger to her feet. She lurched towards the door of the tavern, following the voices and the jeers of the men, the clinking of beer mugs.

“Jee _zus_ dat girl is ugly,” a fair-faced French-Canadian was saying as she approached the door. “Why you marry dat?”

“Wanted my own piece o’ pussy. Whores get borin’ and make yer dick rot clean off,” her husband replied, a leer in his voice. “She ain’t much t’ look at but she’s the tightest I’ve ever had.”

The crowd around them laughed heartily, but it died quickly as the Québécois man noticed Evra standing at the door of the tavern, her hand clenched tight on the jamb to keep from toppling over. Her husband turned in his seat, his hazel eyes meeting hers with surprise. That pleased her.

Slowly, Evra wiped some of the blood and grime from her face with the torn sleeve of her dress and gave the roomful of men a broken-toothed grin. “So,” she said clearly, “who’s next?”

 

~*~*~

 

Within two weeks, Evra could take down a man three times her size with barely any effort. Within a month, she could defeat two large men at once using only her fists and feet.

Within two months, she became known as the Wolf-Bitch of the West and men travelled from all over the province to either watch or to try and put her down.

Evra never lost a fight. _Ever_.

She was fourteen-years-old.

 

~*~*~

 

Evra was soon going to be fifteen.

Her body, not only having undergone its odd and unexpected changes, had blossomed into womanhood; her breasts were large and firm, her hips wide, her thighs thick. She was shaped as a woman should be shaped with some extra flesh on her bones that was meant to help with survival during lean and harsh times.

This hadn’t gone unnoticed by the men she fought. The fights became less about smashing her to bits and more about getting her to the floor so they could have their way with the buxom bitch in front of the others.

This infuriated Evra. She refused to be topped by any man, including her husband. Fucking had never been a pleasant experience for her and her husband was more interested in drinking than fornicating; when he wanted her, he was vicious and cruel between the sheets and that was no way for a young woman to learn about the art of pleasure. But when she began dealing out what she received from him, he stopped trying to bed her completely.

Evra began to wear her husband’s clothes when she fought – it made it difficult for her opponents to undress her. She started smoking cigarettes and drinking heavily, though no amount of alcohol could get her to the level of drunkenness that surrounded her on a nightly basis. She did these things because they made her feel tough, even though the men insisted she was the toughest motherfucker around. Emulating the folks around her endeared her to them; they liked her though their main goal was to beat her down.

Evra began to find herself attracted to a few of the women that frequented the tavern. Once discovered, it didn’t get her into as much trouble as she thought it would – those around began thinking of her more as a man than a woman. Some women flirted back and more than a few preferred Evra’s lovemaking than that of their husband’s.

The women were softer than the men, more willing to be dominated by her; they also had nothing to prove to Evra, nothing that would make them try to hurt her physically or emotionally. Many of these relationships were brief and came from the need of another warm body that understood what it was like to be a woman in that environment.

Slowly over the year, everyone started calling her Evan. They would shout that name when she walked through the tavern doors, men would scream that name as she was smearing them into the dirt, women would moan that name in her ear as she was making them come.

Evra became Evan and it fit her like a bespoke suit.

Then one night, three weeks before her fifteenth birthday, her husband came at her in a drunken stupor with his prized hunting knife – the one he’d used to skin her with a mere year ago – angry that she no longer wanted to share his bed or give him children.

“Why would I want t’ give ya a child?” Evra had laughed. “Yer a good fer nothin’ drunk an’ a bastard besides. Ya can’t even take care o’ yerself, let alone a wife an’ a baby.”

He lunged at her with a roar, knife out, blade flashing in the light of the cooking fire. The fight was furious but brief, his prized weapon buried between his ribs, deep in his heart. He died with his hands wrapped around the handle, eyes widened in fright and pain, blood bubbling from his mouth.

Evra was completely still for a few minutes, her chest pounding, her hands red and sticky, listening to the life gurgle from her husband’s lungs. A plethora of feelings rushed over her – relief, anger, fear – but the one that was noticeably absent was remorse.

She didn’t feel the slightest bit sorry that he was dead or that she was the one who had killed him. She had liked it, liked the blood as it grew tacky on her flesh, liked the way his ribs had cracked as she had driven the blade deep into him, liked the sounds that had come from his mouth as the life leaked from his body.

Evra didn’t shed a tear.

 

~*~*~

 

She didn’t have to look for long to find her husband’s large hunting rucksack. Evra packed it with things she knew she’d need: matches, a canteen, a few fishing lines and hooks, clothes for hot and cold weather, and some food that wouldn’t spoil.

She was still dressed in her husbands garments – a pair of too big boots that she’d stuffed with a few of her old kerchiefs, baggy tan trousers, an undershirt, and one of his shirts that was loose around her bosom. Suspenders helped keep the pants from puddling around her feet.

Evra found the money he’d made on her fights, stuffing it in her boots for safekeeping. Once dressed, with the pack ready by the door, she grabbed the knife buried in her husband’s chest and yanked it out. It made a sick, squelching sound that made her shiver with delight. Impulsively, she ran her tongue along the flat of the blade, licking at the blood that had begun to dry.

The taste sent a zing of gratification through her and she gasped, a sensation of wetness building between her legs. She moaned, squeezing her legs together, loving the pulse of heat that pulsed in her belly. Evra let the feeling roll through her until the wetness seeped down her legs and she threw her head back with a satisfied cry.

She stood still for a minute, revelling in the aftershocks of her orgasm before walking out the door.

 

~*~*~

 

Her husband was discovered two weeks later, flat on his back in the middle of the floor, his hands curled around an invisible weapon.

No one mourned him – the only reason he’d been found was that he owed the tavern keeper money – but the talk of the message etched into the wood of the door was gossip around the area for years to come and morphed into a tale to tell those easily scared, those who would be frightened by the Wolf-Bitch of the North.

_Heer Lies the bastard Daniel Vargis_

_kilt by his own knife_

_I woulde kille him a thousande times over an over agin_

_Let his vile soule rot in Hell_

 

~*~*~

**Evra**

So, Evra Kitney wasn’t the kind of person who went looking for trouble, but here it was in the form of Victor Creed, the largest and strongest man she’d ever encountered.

And he’d discovered her secret. Well, one of them, anyway.

Evra felt herself trembling under the huge man, but it wasn’t from fear; she hadn’t been afraid of anything since she found out she was stronger than any man. She was quivering under him due to _desire_.

She was familiar with the concept of desire – she desired Jasmine at times, desired the feel of another body close to hers, moaning in her ear – but she hadn’t felt pure, naked desire like this before in her life.

It was if everything was stripped bare, all pretence, all words and pleasantries useless, all gestures pointless. This was hunger torn down into its basic element; this was primal and feral lust.

The thing within her recognized the man for what he was – an animal like her – and it wanted him badly. It wanted to mate with this alpha male, not for the purpose of breeding, but for the purpose of experience strong, male heat, wanting Evra to know what rutting with such a well built, virile feral would be like.

Victor’s cock was digging into her ass and his fingers were still massaging the inside of her sex. It was beginning to feel too good, too close. The motions of his fingers were driving her to the edge and Evra’s thighs began to shake, her breath coming in fast, little pants.

Victor Creed was going to make her come, something a man had never done before.

 

~*~*~

**Victor**

There was a moment of silence, save for the heavy breathing of Victor and the kid – or frail – under him.

He kept his fingers inside of her, massaging the inside of her slit. Her muscles began to tighten sweetly and a moment before her legs started to quake, Victor withdrew his digits.

The frail let out a frustrated groan, dropping her head to the dirt. Victor chuckled to himself as he listened to her pant, her chest heaving. Denying her an orgasm wasn’t the wickedest thing he could do by far, but it seemed appropriate in order to remind this bitch who was really in charge.

He brought his fingers to his nose, smelling her sharp wetness before inserting them into his mouth to lick them clean, tasting the luscious musk of an alpha female for the first time in his life.

_Fuck._

Victor’s mouth watered as his tongue swept over her exquisite essence, growling as he swallowed. It was incredible – beyond incredible. It was practically fucking transcendent. His cock hardened to the point of pain.

 

~*~*~

**Evra**

The scent of his lust spiked and Evra had had enough. Victor had eased his fingers out of her just moments before her orgasm, lifting them to his face. He was pleased by what he’d tasted, his rumble of pleasure reverberating through her.

She had denied herself many things in this life; and what could have been the most glorious, primal, satisfying fuck in her whole existence would just be another. Despite the thing inside of her howling with lust and want, Evra gritted her teeth and raised herself onto her elbows. “You figured me out, Mr. Creed,” she spat. “So, you gonna fuck me like I’m a man or like I’m a woman? I ain’t got all night.”

She’d hoped that Creed would want to fight instead of fuck; she could do that and come out no worse for the wear, but her retort seemed to have the opposite effect.

He leaned forward, pressing his muscular chest to her back, letting her feel the raw strength in his body. “What’s yer real name, frail?” Victor growled, his breath hot against the back of her head. It sent a shiver down her right leg.

 _Frail_.

Evra was _not_ that word! She was not! She was tough and hard and could beat any man! ANY MAN!

She twisted under him, trying to free herself. This elicited a snarl from him. The thing inside her took it seriously and sent a message that Evra immediately obeyed: _still_.

The thing was stressing the importance of compliance with the man over top of her, but Evra hadn’t kowtowed to a man since her husband died and she wasn’t about to start now.

Silence was her weapon of defiance.

 

~*~*~

**Victor**

The frail remained quiet, refusing to answer his question. It was a blatant display of alphaness and it charmed Victor slightly. He may have been bigger and stronger than her, but she was letting him know she wasn’t afraid to stand up to him. He liked it more than he thought he would.

Victor flipped the kid over onto her back and straddled her again so he could look into her face. Her skin was flushed, her eyes bright. “Bet you ain’t even sixteen, huh?”

Again, the frail didn’t answer. He could feel her body trembling and he gave her a wide smile, flashing his fangs. She could ignore his questions, but there was no denying the affect he was having on her feral side. The frail was obviously aroused.

“You afraid of me, girl?” Victor purred, running his fingertips over the plane of her cheekbone. His nails left red scrapes on her flesh that faded immediately.

She licked her lips and locked her eyes on his. Another challenge. “No.”

Victor laughed and she squirmed. “Yer lying.”

The scent of raspberries and freshly turned soil was suddenly permeated the air. Victor sniffed greedily and leaned forward to nudge the skin just behind her ear. His tongue licked her flesh, causing her to shudder. The fucking sublime taste of her filled his mouth, his senses.

“I’m not afraid of you,” the frail growled and Victor knew that she wasn’t, not even a little bit.

For a split second, he wondered if he could feel love.

 

~*~*~

**Evra**

 

The scent coming from Victor was beginning to overwhelm Evra; his natural smell of wood smoke and blood threaded through the incredible musk of his testosterone and outright animalistic desire.

He growled impatiently and the thing inside Evra snapped; she released a growl of her own and reached impatiently for the button of Victor’s trousers. He watched her through half-lidded eyes as she eased her hand inside and grasped his cock. It felt hot in her hand and jumped as her fingers closed around it. She ran her thumb over the tip, smearing the precum she found there over the head of his erection. Victor closed his eyes and groaned.

For that moment, it felt good having power over him, knowing that she held his pleasure in her hand. If she wanted to, she could have attacked him right then. Sure, Victor was still on top, but she had the advantage; he was distracted and at his most vulnerable. But the thing wouldn’t let her; it wanted him, this hulking, and powerful male.

 _Be rough,_ the thing sent, _not soft._

“You haven’t told me if you’re gonna fuck me like I’m a man or a woman yet,” Evra said, as she slowly stroked her hand down his shaft. When she got to the base, she tightened her grip and jerked roughly back up, making Victor gasp.

The thing had been right in its assumption – he didn’t seem like the kind of man who cared for gentleness when it came to sex.

When she reversed her caress, Victor leaned forward. “I’m gonna fuck ya like a feral, girl. Ever been fucked like that before?”

“No,” she whispered.

The thing inside of her howled loud and long and it made Evra shiver.

 

~*~*~

**Victor**

 

“You haven’t told me if you’re gonna fuck me like I’m a man or a woman yet,” the frail said, rubbing her hand down his shaft. When she got to the base, she tightened her grip and jerked roughly back up. Victor gasped. She was touching him in just the right way; he didn’t much care for gentleness – it never got him where he needed to go. Forceful was best.

On her next down stroke, Victor leaned forward. “I’m gonna fuck ya like a feral, girl. Ever been fucked like that before?”

“No,” she whispered. Her body quivered under him.

With a snarl, he buried his nose in her mane of rust-coloured hair, breathing in the smell of raspberries, soil and that delicious, magnificent musk, committing it to his memory. Victor’s claws slid out and he sliced away her shirt, wanting to be able to lick her sweet-tasting skin while they rutted.

He spun her back onto her stomach, drawing a cry from her – a sound that only made him want her more. He quickly discarded his jacket and shirt, keeping one hand between her shoulder blades so she wouldn’t squirm away; though it seemed like her feral nature was desperate to rut with him. Her beast was slowly taking control of her.

The frail spread her legs wider for him, lifting her hips slightly and the satisfying scent of her wetness let him know that she was ready for him and he pushed his trousers down with haste, eager to mate. He grabbed her hips, pulling her onto her knees.

Victor thrust into her with a snarl and she cried out as he pushed deeper and deeper still. She was tight - tighter than any other he’d been with and it made him redouble his efforts. She dug her fingers into the dirt, scrambling for some purchase as Victor drove into her, pushing her forward with each stroke.

Her tightness pleased him, clenching around his hungry cock and drawing a groan from deep within him. His forceful rhythm had the girl mewling in pleasure beneath him while he stretched her open; sweat was beginning to bead on her smooth back. Victor, his grip tight on her hips, leaned down to lick at the perspiration on her skin.

The fucking taste of her was driving him crazy.

He needed more.

 

~*~*~

**Evra**

She hadn’t wanted Victor Creed to be the first man to fuck her in two years and she hadn’t wanted it to feel good, but goddamn, he was and it was beyond incredible.

He was filling her completely, consuming her senses, making Evra want nothing else but to be with him, letting his body move in her and within her, and she couldn’t help but respond.

Evra moaned and began to thrust her hips back to meet him; this elicited a cautionary rumble from Victor. His teeth were suddenly pressed against the back of her neck, pricking it lightly.

The feel of his sharp incisors puncturing her flesh angered the thing inside of her and Evra yowled in displeasure, trying to buck him off, shaking her head from side to side in order to dislodge him.

 _Not mate!_ the thing cried. _N_ _ot mate!_

Her struggle seemed to excite Victor further and he ploughed deeper into her, her noises of anger changing to those of pleasure, despite herself. He bit down, his teeth slicing her flesh.

 _Still_ , the thing commanded, _not claiming bite. Not mate._

Evra stilled under him immediately and he eased up, lapping the blood from the wound before it healed. He made a sound between a groan and a growl and somehow, she knew that he was close to orgasm.

Victor slowed the thrusting slightly, and she moaned, wanting it faster, deeper. But he changed the angle at which he was pushing into her and it hit something within her.

Red stars blossomed behind her eyes, tremors that seemed both cold in her veins yet tightened her very skin wracked her body. Evra tossed her head back and howled as she came, howled long and hard and true.

 _Release_.

 

~*~*~

**Victor**

 

The girl howled underneath him, bucking wildly while her pussy clenched around his shaft tightly. Victor reared up and came with a roar, spilling his seed deep inside of her.

A few more thrusts made sure he was completely drained before he collapsed onto his forearms on either side of her, sweat dripping from his chest onto her back, panting heavily. The frail’s knees gave out and they tumbled to the dirt, Victor still sheathed inside of her.

“Jesus Christ, frail,” he muttered into her ear. He felt her body tense under him.

“Don’t call me that,” she panted, turning her head to the side. One green eye looked up at him.

“Tell me yer name, then,” Victor growled.

“Evra,” she said. “Evra Kitney. Now get th’ hell off me,”

He chuckled at the demand but complied, easing out of her before rolling onto his side. He watched her turn over and sit up, tugging off the trousers that had gotten caught around her ankles. The cloth was still wrapped around her chest and Victor eyed it, his fingers stroking it curiously.

“Binding,” Evra said. “Flattens th’ breasts.”

He sat up, running his hand around the band to her back, which was still damp with sweat. “D’ya ever take it off?”

She titled her head, eyeing him. “Sometimes,”

Victor pricked his talons over the stretchy cotton, letting them catch in the material. “You fully grown, girl?”

She snorted. “You’re worried now _after_ we’re done fuckin’? Yeah, I’m seventeen an’ I ain’t no virgin neither, in case you were frettin’ ‘bout my chastity too.”

Victor normally would’ve bristled at sass like that from a frail, but there was something appealing about it coming from Evra. Rather than anger him, it aroused him. He didn’t run into many women who would dare speak to him that way.

“Seventeen ain’t grown,” Victor chuckled.

“It is for a man,” Evra said, reaching towards her jacket. She fished out two cigarettes and passed one to him before offering him her lit match. She shook the flame out and tucked the used match into one of her bulging pockets. “Seems thirteen’s grown for a girl, besides. Old enough t’ be married, old enough t’ take a cock.”

“Marty’s story true?”

She laughed, shaking her head as she took a drag. “Marty. Yeah, it’s mostly true, I guess. Don’t know what he’s added to it now; shit, he could’ve turned me into th’ goddamn Wendigo for all I fuckin’ know.”

Victor felt a genuine smile on his lips as he took in the frail next to him. She seemed too small to be a predator, yet here she was, unafraid to stand up to him, unafraid to take down men bigger than her. “You kill your husband?”

Evra exhaled slowly, the smoke swirling around her face in the starlight, making her look tired and worn out for someone so young. “Yeah.”

She fell silent and turned away from Victor, looking out over the water. She crushed out her cigarette slipped the stub into her pocket, moving to stand. “Gimme your stub,” she said, holding out her hand. “Ain’t no sense in startin’ a forest fire.”

“Where you goin’?” Victor caught her wrist.

Evra jerked her hand from his grip. “Gotta get back to Marty,” she said, getting to her feet. She started tugging on her trousers and Victor stood.

He didn’t want her to leave; he wanted more of her and he knew that made him greedy, but he didn’t give a fuck. When had being greedy ever bothered Victor?

He stepped towards Evra and began pulling at the binding that covered her chest; her trousers fell back to the ground, forgotten. She pulled out of his grasp and faced him, her eyes flashing with warning.

“Th’ fuck you think yer doin’?” she demanded, her mouth twisted in anger.

“Take it off,” Victor said, reaching out the grab at the cotton again.

“No.” Evra slapped his hand away with a surprising amount of strength.

It made him think of all the damage she could take, how he could be as rough with her as he wanted. He licked his lips as he raised his amber eyes to meet hers; their gazes locked in a challenge.

“Take it off.” Victor commanded, lengthening his claws.

She growled at him, taking a step towards him. “I will not.”

Her defiance sparked a flame in Victor, making his cock jump with want. He was used to women being submissive to him, yielding whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it. Rare was the woman who would stand up to him; rarer still was the woman who would stand up to him and live to tell about it.

With a snarl, he pounced on her, driving her back down into the dirt. One large hand grabbed both of her wrists and pinned then above her head while the other started yanking the binding away from her body. She hissed and yowled under him as it loosened and began to fall away.

Evra was impressively strong; Victor was having trouble keeping her pinioned. The only way he was able to keep her under him was the fact she had no leverage. That didn’t stop her from twisting and writhing against him, making his cock harden. It didn’t help that her scent was filled with heat and want.

“Stop movin’ unless you want me t’ fuck ya again,” Victor snarled, wrenching the loose cloth from her torso.

A low rumble came from her chest and Evra parted her legs, bucking her hips up to collide with his erection. Victor snapped at her as the soft hair between her legs brushed along his shaft.

“Do it,” Her voice was a challenge.

His growl became a groan as she moved herself against him again, her wetness leaving a damp line along his erection. When the binding finally fell away, he leaned down and pressed his mouth to her ear. “Goddamnit, girl,” he murmured. “Are ya tryin’ to make me kill ya? ‘Cause I will.”

Her response was to latch onto his earlobe hard, teeth sinking through the flesh, his blood trickling into her mouth.

With a curse, Victor pushed into her and she hissed, trying to yank her wrists from his unyielding grip. Evra’s body had other ideas though; her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, driving him deeper into her. He jerked his face away from hers, his lobe now detached. Evra turned her head slightly and spat it out.

Laughing breathlessly, Victor rammed into Evra roughly as she snarled at him, her teeth snapping at the flesh of his arms and chest. He kept just out of her reach, amused as he watched her face flush with anger and desire.

Victor didn’t know which one he liked more on her.

He kept his rhythm violent, grinding Evra into the ground with each thrust and soon, the noises of rage she made turned into sounds of need. She met his aggression with her own, slamming her hips up to meet him with incredible force. If she had been a normal woman, the fury in their thrusts would have broken her pelvis.

Victor glanced down and saw Evra’s breasts for the first time, free and bouncing along with their movement. They were bigger than he expected; one filled his large hand as he grabbed it, squeezing firmly. She groaned and let out a little yip as he lengthened his thumbnail and scraped it over the nipple.

Her nipples were darker than Victor presumed based on her Irish colouring; they were the colour of caramel, not the pink or dusky rose he’d seen on woman of that particular descent. He stroked it again, delighted and surprised by the noise she made.

Beneath him, Evra’s breath had changed, her moans more urgent; Victor could smell that she was close to climax. “That’s right, girl,” he urged, releasing her breast and grabbing her wrists with his free hand. He lowered himself slightly, his chest brushing against her rigid light brown nipples. “Let me feel ya.”

Evra writhed under him, gasping and panting; he felt her thighs begin to tremble around his hips. She cried out, arching herself into him.           

She came with a shudder, Victor groaning as her muscles clenched tight around his cock. Without warning, Evra’s teeth pierced the flesh of his collarbone, the sharp pain causing Victor to roar and release unexpectedly into her, coating her walls with his seed.

“You little bitch!” he gasped as her silky tongue lapped at the blood that had welled up before the wound had closed. She murmured a sound of pleasure as she licked at his skin and his beast purred contentedly.

 _Mate_ , it said, stretching languidly under his skin. _Mine_.

No!

Victor had never submitted to anything once he had matured, going through life taking what he wanted when he wanted it. But, he’d also never met a female alpha feral before. The few female ferals he _had_ met had been more than willing to submit to a big, powerful male, be bred, and released. Some had hoped to be Victor’s mate, but he’d never felt that connection, that need.

Victor was his own person and he was not about to give up his freedom for a woman who needed his protection, who wanted cubs. Besides, he had Jimmy.

Jimmy was pack. Jimmy could take care of himself.

 _Jimmy was gone_.

 _Claim mate!_ his beast insisted, but Victor pushed that urge down.

He looked down at Evra, who was still lapping his flesh, her body beginning to cool from their heated rutting. He released her wrists and pulled away from her. “Don’t bite me again,” he warned.

“Shit,” Evra laughed, sitting up. “It ain’t no pissin’ contest, Mr. Creed. It’s jus’ fuckin’.”

He suppressed a snarl -- stupid bitch. “It’s different with our kind,” he said roughly. “Ferals bite in order t’ claim mates. A bite can connect a pair for life.”

Her body started. “Shit. I didn’t –“

Victor only shook his head. His beast was raging inside of him, roaring for him to take Evra as his. He didn’t come here looking for a mate; he came here looking for Jimmy. Jimmy was who Victor wanted.

 _Jimmy_.

He felt the other man’s presence in the back of his mind, his scent in his nose. He yearned for that togetherness, the two of them brawling and drinking across the continents, fighting side by side in the war, ripping and killing. He missed it; he yearned for it.

The word _mate_ began to blur between memories of Jimmy and the relentless urgings of the beast and its want for Evra.

Movement brought him back to himself and Victor watched Evra gather up the binding that he’d yanked from her body. With a sigh, she sat back down next to him and began folding it.

Victor palmed one of her breasts, closing his large hand around it in a firm grasp. “Does it hurt?” he asked, tilting his head towards the binding.

“Like a bitch,” she replied.

“Why do it? Dress like a man?”

“You see the way women get treated? Either wives or whores with no in between,” Evra said furiously. “I’m doin’ what I have to in order t’ survive. If pretendin’ to be a man gets me even half the places I want t’ go, then that’s what I’m gonna do.”

Victor chuckled, releasing her breast. “It ain’t got ya far, kid.”

Evra’s eyes flashed with a determination that sent a thrill through his veins and into his groin. “You just wait, Mr. Creed,” she vowed as she grabbed his hard cock forcefully. “I’ll show you. I’ll show everybody.”

  
  
~*~*~


	3. Play Mate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor finds out yet another secret about the kid and now the kid's days are numbered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Please enjoy the next chapter and feel free to drop me a line. I'm always looking to improve.
> 
> Triggers warnings for violence and dubious consent.

* * *

 

 

**Evra**

_Marty._

He was Evra’s first thought when she woke caged under Victor Creed’s hulking body. His arm was tight under her breasts, one leg hooked over hers.

He was warm in the early morning sunshine, his honey blonde hair shining like a beacon. She was sorely tempted to curl back up to his muscular chest and drift back into sleep—especially when Creed started purring and rubbing his cheek against the top of her head. Evra touched his arm gently.

He stirred, his purr broken by a soft snort and a murmur as he tried to pull her back to his warm, muscular body. Evra tensed and took a deep breath, holding it until his purr began again, and exhaling as she manoeuvred herself out from his embrace, careful not to wake him.

Evra had been neglecting Marty. She needed to heal him while the injuries were still fresh, still malleable. It required less of her energy and made the process easier; that’s why she’d been quick to heal Jasmine’s broken hand rather than waiting until later.

 _Shit_.

It was possible that Creed had figured out her other secret: that she had the power to heal others as well as herself. He’d been asking a lot of questions since she’d fixed Jasmine’s hand—and as she had found out last night, he was nothing if not persistent.

Quietly, she made her way to the river where she washed herself using her torn shirt, keeping her eyes on Creed’s slumbering form. While she worked the shirt over her skin, her mind turned back to last night.

The memory of how she and Creed had rutted shamelessly, grinding their bodies together again and again, biting and snarling and clawing until release was achieved.

 _Release_.

No one had made her feel the things she had experience last night. Not Daniel, not Jasmine, not any other man or woman she’d taken to her bed.

She’d _liked_ it.

Creed’s raw feralness and savagery excited her and remembering the way he’d torn and bit her flesh sent a sudden curl of heat to her centre. Evra couldn’t help the moan that slipped from her lips as she recalled the feel of his hands and tongue on her body.

What had happened with Creed made sense to Evra—brutality, fury, viciousness boarding on cruelty—those were things that she could deal with, as they were all she had received from others in life. Blood, gore, veins alive with fire, hearts almost bursting from exertion—those were things Evra understood.

Daniel’s cock would always come with the inevitable pain that he loved to inflict, but she had never understood why. She was a good wife, a good cook, and kept a good home until she became strong and put a stop to her husband’s brutality, the question of _why_ he had done it in the back of her mind. It served no purpose.

But last night … last night had shown Evra there was something _behind_ the violence that she had Creed had exacted upon each other. It wasn’t like the pain Daniel used to bring to her. It wasn’t like that at all. It was primordial, ancient, and it _mattered_. There was a _purpose_ to it all. It wasn’t meant to humiliate; it was meant to pleasure the beast within.

Creed had shown her why she needed to embrace the thing that bayed for carnage; he was helping her make sense of it.

She was a feral.

Evra finally had a name to the thing inside of her, the beast that reared its head and begged for blood on her knuckles, raw meat from the hunt, the intense and fierce colliding of two bodies that called to each other by nature.

She felt different—alive, like she was seeing the world for the first time through a new set of eyes.

She shook her head and climbed out of the water as silently as she could before clothing herself—using one of Pointer’s shirts—and grabbed her jacket, heavy with items purloined from the dead man’s rucksack.

Evra glanced at Victor one last time. She didn’t want to, but she knew she had to go back to the bordello and leave the big sleeping kitten behind.

There was Marty to think about.

 

~*~*~

**Victor**

_Jimmy was livid, his small body practically vibrating with rage, his skin and hair slicked with sweat as he yelled at Victor. He didn’t believe in the killing anymore, he said. It didn’t appeal to his beast._

_Bullshit_ , _Victor said. They were fighting a fucking war now; this was different than anything they’d done as a pack. The war was a goddamn miracle as far as he was concerned – this was killing sanctioned by the government. They could be as vicious as they wanted!_

_The war wasn’t the point, Jimmy countered. He no longer had the bloodlust, the passion he’d once possessed. He was tired, he said. He didn’t want to do it anymore. He was sick of being surrounded by death. He wanted something different._

_Victor had laughed – did Jimmy want kittens and puppies and goddamn fucking rainbows? That wasn’t the shit they were built for; they had been built for killing._

_Killing was_ instinct.

_Jimmy had shaken his head with a sigh and gone quiet._

_He was gone the next morning._

_Of course Victor was going to track him down – even Jimmy had to know that – but he hadn’t expected to find ~_

 

~ MATE.

 

“Jimmy,” Victor murmured as he jerked awake, his amber eyes not yet focused.

He reached for the warm body that should have been beside him, but he didn’t know who would be—Evra or Jimmy?

There was no one.

The growl came unbidden from his chest as he got to his feet, casting his eyes around and scenting the air, hoping to find someone, _anyone_. The beast was pushing images of Evra into his mind but the dream of Jimmy had not yet faded and the urge for both made his body react forcefully.

With a snarl, Victor dropped to his knees and dug his claws into the dirt, trying to push the urgent, desperate need for _mate_ out of his brain. Instead, one of his hands reached for his hard cock and he stroked it roughly, Evra and Jimmy foremost in his thoughts, touching and kissing and stroking and it felt so _right_.

He came with a grunt and let go of his softening member before tilting his head up to look at the beginnings of a beautiful blue sky. Victor took a few minutes to breathe in the scent of the coming dawn, the fresh prairie air, the dew on the grass, and the sound of the creek burbling a few feet away.

 _Find mate_.

Evra’s clothes were gone; the only piece of her that remained was the shirt Victor had ripped from her. He rubbed his hands over his face and cursed loudly, frightening a blue jay from a nearby tree. He got to his feet and investigated the shirt; she had obviously used it to wash herself in the creek before she’d left.

It was slightly damp and still possessed her mouth-watering musk along with the scent of Victor’s seed. The reminder of last night’s activities made him purr as he buried his nose in the shirt, relishing her smell, her feralness, her _alphaness_.

 _MATE_.

Evra had proven to be more than a match for him. She had met him touch for touch, kiss for kiss, thrust for thrust. She’d worn him out, quite like Jimmy used to.

 _Jimmy_.

He clenched the shirt in his fist with an irritated growl.

Goddammit, Evra reminded him so much of Jimmy it made Victor’s groin ache. His beast was still raging at him to take her as his mate, the idea of having someone equal in strength and stamina and power as its lifelong partner was more than appealing. She possessed the fury and the bloodlust that ingrained in himself and Jimmy.

What was his goddamn problem?

Again, when Victor thought of _mate_ , both Evra and Jimmy came to mind, their likenesses morphing into each other, blurring together, and becoming one.

Victor let out a roar of frustration, sending the rest of the treed bluebirds airbourne. What did this mean? Did he want both? Did he need both?

All Victor knew was that he didn’t want to go forward alone—he wanted someone with him, someone by his side. Since he couldn’t have Jimmy, he could take Evra.

 _Mate_.

Victor kept the ruined shirt close to him as he dressed, tucking it into his jacket pocket. He had every intention of keeping Evra close to him, even if it was only a discarded piece of clothing for now.

 _Evra. Jimmy. Mate_.

 

~*~*~

 

**Evra**

 

It was about 5 a.m. when Evra approached the back of Madame O’s, the entrance that led to the kitchen. She heard the familiar sounds of Jasmine pottering around getting ready for the breakfast crowd.

Evra hesitated at the door, unsure as to whether or not she should go in or run back into the forest and just keep moving until she collapsed.

Jasmine was humming as she plumped the bread dough in their pans, readying them for the oven. The smell of baking loaves already scented the air. Evra watched as the redhead’s deft hands worked the dough for the next batch. She hadn’t been kidding when she told Creed that Jasmine made the best bread she’d ever eaten. It was always light and fluffy and soft and she always knew just the right amount of butter to slather on.

Evra’s mouth began to water thinking about it … or was it because Jasmine’s sweet floral scent was ticking her nose and she longed to place a kiss on her smooth, graceful neck, right over the pulse? Maybe more than a kiss—more like a bite?

She growled and clenched her fist, ducking out of sight of the window. A few deep breaths calmed her slightly. When she heard Jasmine’s footsteps traipse out of the kitchen, she went to the door.

Evra let herself in, grateful that Jasmine was nowhere in sight. Another scent caught her attention, pulled her towards it. It was Victor’s wood smoke and lightning smell but tinged with something else, something distinctly feminine.

Sophie was scrubbing the floor in the dining room, paying special attention to the area still spotted with Stanley Pointer’s blood. It was the young woman; she was sporting the alpha male’s addictive musk. Victor had obviously rutted with Sophie and Evra became wet at the thought of it.

“Madame’s been looking for you,” Sophie said, sitting back on her heels to look up at Evra. “She’s upset you didn’t come home last night.”

Evra shrugged. “Had other jobs t’ do.”

Sophie blew a strand of blonde hair from her face and smiled prettily. “Just wanted to warn you she’s on the warpath,” she said, then hesitated, dropping her eyes. “Have you seen Vic – I mean, Mr. Creed recently?”

Evra’s gut and groin clenched in a visceral reaction to his name and she fought hard to suppress the growl that built in her chest. Sophie noticed Evra’s response and gave her a puzzled look.

“Haven’t seen him recently,” Evra lied as she turned away. “Best be careful, Soph; don’t let Madame catch you givin’ away what she could be sellin’.”

She left to the sounds of the young woman’s giggle.

Evra slept in a storage room right next to the bar. Before the war, it had been crowded with boxes and bottles of booze but it was fairly empty. It also wasn’t very big, but there was room enough for a cot, a tiny table for her lantern, and a small space in which she hung her measly collection of tatty clothes.

She threw her heavy jacket on the cot and pulled on a set of clean clothes before heading down to the nurse’s room. There was no one in the sitting room as she left, which pleased her. There was no way Evra wanted to explain why she was sneaking down the hall at twenty after five in the morning and she _really_ didn’t want to run into Madame Olive. It’d be better for Evra to meet up with a mama bear with her cubs than Madame O. She’d have better odds.

The smell of camphor and soap assaulted her nose as soon as she came through the door.

Evra’s heart contracted as she saw Marty, his face and neck bound with white gauze. He looked so small on the mattress, so weak and helpless.

Marty had been her first friend when she arrived at Madame O’s and had been fiercely protective of her as she learned her way around, especially after he learned her secret. He was the one that taught her how to bind herself correctly, how to cut her hair, and how to pitch her voice so she looked and sounded more like a man.

She would do anything to save Marty’s life, even at the expense of her own. Evra knew she would come back. Marty couldn’t.

Evra crossed the room and sat on the chair next to his bed, reaching out to stroke his sweat soaked hair. The man murmured under her touch, sighing gently. She closed her eyes, absorbing the pain she could feel prickling beneath his skin. Marty groaned as she pulled his hurt into herself.

It was hot and thorny under her flesh, raising goosebumps on her arms and the hair on the back of her neck. No one liked pain, or at least pretended not to like it, but Evra could handle it. She could take pain, the pain that others imposed on her and the pain she took in from others.

When the barbed feeling left her, she dropped her hand and shook it, trying to rid it of the sensation of pins and needles. Evra leaned back with a sigh and rubbed her good hand over her face.

“Need a minute, _ch_ _èr_ _e_?”

The voice was as smooth as butter and soothed her slightly. She turned to face the man who was closing the door to the nurse’s room.

Doctor Remy Laurent flashed her a swoon worthy smile as he came towards her.

He was over six feet tall, with a lean muscled body. His auburn hair was down to his shoulders—longer than it should be for a doctor—but he had it pulled back in a tail, which highlighted his almost feminine face. He was extremely popular among the staff at Madame O’s but Evra knew he’d not yet taken advantage of the numerous offers sent his way.

At this moment, dark circles bracketed his blue eyes, his face was dabbled with stubble, and his clothes were wrinkled and stained.

“Nah,” she said, getting to her feet. “Strap me up at let’s get this over with.”

Remy’s grin widened as he pulled a leather tie from one of the drawers. “You always say the sweetest things, _petite_.”

“Stop flirtin’,” Evra said as she dragged her eyes over him. “You look like shit.”

Remy brought a hand up to his chest. “You wound me, Kit,” he said, clutching at his soiled shirt. “Nancy Thurman’s _b_ _éb_ _é_ decided to take his sweet time comin’ into dis world, I can tell you dat. Got Madame’s message an’ came right here as soon as dat child was free an’ clear.”

Evra pushed the second cot next to Marty’s and got settled. “Well, I’m glad you’re here,” she said, holding her arm out for the doctor. He took Marty’s good one—the one without the smashed elbow—and secured them together with the leather strap.

“Dat makes two of us,” Remy said. “Now lie back an’ do your _la magie_. I got a boil to lance on Connor McLean’s _derriere_ when we done.”

“Now who’s talkin’ sweet?”

~*~*~

 

**Victor**

Victor was scowling as he stormed into the kitchen, starling Jasmine, who dropped the cast iron pan she was holding. She shrunk back in dread, one hand going to her mouth.

“Where’s the kid,” he growled, soaking in the scent of fright she was giving off.

She opened her mouth but nothing came out except for a terrified squeak. Victor grabbed her wrist, jerking her towards him. The smell of panic intensified, even more so as he leaned down to sniff at her hair.

Evra’s presence on Jasmine was faint, so they hadn’t been together that morning. He continued to nose along her hairline, drinking in her natural smell of sunshine and clover.

“M-Mr. Creed, please,” Jasmine said quietly.

Victor pulled back slightly, watching her. She had her head tilted to the side, her eyes downcast. It seemed to him that the redhead had been in this position before. She was submitting to him. It sent a shock of heat to his groin.

He lowered his head again, placing his lips to her ear. “The kid,” he murmured.

“I d-don’t know,” she stammered, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Evan went to the nurse’s room,” Sophie’s voice came from the door to the dining room.

Victor took one last sniff of Jasmine and then released her. She stumbled back against the wall, gasping from relief. He turned to Sophie and held out a hand to the young woman. Her eyes lit up and she crossed to him, slipping one small hand into his.

“Thank you, sweet girl,” Victor purred before he planted a firm kiss on her mouth. He spun Sophie away and winked charmingly at her. “Stick around. I may come lookin’ for you later.”

Sophie’s giggle faded quickly as Victor strode out of the dining room, into the sitting room of the bordello, and down the hall to the nurse’s room. He hesitated outside of the door.

There was a new scent in the air, one he didn’t recognise. It was male, slightly spicy mixed with sweat, blood, and afterbirth. It was an unusual combination of odours but not an unpleasant one. He focused on the heartbeats in the room; two were strong and sturdy and one was weak but stable.

One of the robust beats definitely belonged to Evra. Victor recognised the steady _lub dub_ belonging to the feral woman he’d rutted with the night before. His beast purred as it wrapped itself around Evra’s thudding beat. It let him know his mate was alive, safe.

Her scent permeated the air and he breathed it in deeply, letting it fill his lungs.

Without warning, her heartbeat slowed and then stopped.

 _Danger. Mate in danger_.

With a snarl, Victor burst through the door, looking for the threat that had taken his mate down. His vision blurred red, a menacing snarl coming from his chest as he looked around the room.

A man was standing over his mate—an unknown man, the man that smelled like afterbirth, and blood, and pain. Delicious.

With a growl, he advanced on the man who threw his hands up in surrender. The fear rolling from him was delectable and Victor licked his lips. Meat would be good now; build up energy from last night.

First, though, this man had to suffer for hurting his mate. Victor launched forward with another snarl, his claws extended. Before he could tackle his prey, his sight exploded into nothing but white, washing away all vision and colours.

He howled in pain and hit the floor hard. Furiously, he tried to rub away the light dancing behind his lids, but that served no purpose.

“Stop rubbin’,” said a voice. “It go away in a few minutes, _grande homme_.”

Victor rolled on to his hands and knees, saliva dripping from his mouth as he tried the breathe through the throbbing in his eyes. It was more that a sting; it almost felt as if his eyeballs had melted, but he knew they hadn’t. He didn’t feel the tingle that accompanied his healing.

“Who are you?” he hissed wetly.

“Doctor Remy Laurent,” came the same voice.

“Why’d you kill him? Evan?”

“Ain’t dead,” was the reply. “Always comes back. Interestin’ dat.”

_Not dead. Heal._

Of course, Victor thought, Evra could heal herself. This thought calmed his beast and it relaxed slightly.

A few more moments passed and Victor’s vision, while still a bit blurry, had cleared enough that he was able to stand. The pain had finally passed.

“Jesus,” he grumbled. “Th’ fuck you hit me with?”

“Nothin’ to concern yoursel’ wit, _homme_.”

Victor moved back to lean against the wall and watched as the blurred form of Dr. Laurent moved gracefully around both Evra and Marty, checking their pulses, noting anything odd, and taking notes. As the haze left his eyes, he was able to study the scene properly.

The doctor was undoing a leather strap that had bound the kid’s arm to Marty’s. Curious. He looked closer at the unconscious man and noticed something that gave him confirmation that Evra could heal others: Marty’s busted leg was now facing the right way. It didn’t even smell to Victor like it had been broken. It was if the break had never happened.

“Shit.” Victor muttered to himself.

Remy turned to face him, the strap still in his hands. Fuck, he was a goddamn fine looking man with his high cheekbones and full lips. Stubble graced his chiselled face, which saved him from being too feminine.

“Now,” Dr. Laurent said, wrapping the strap around his long-fingered hand. “Who de hell are you?”

“Victor Creed,” he replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m the kid’s…”

He stopped himself. He wasn’t Evra’s mate, not yet. Nor did he know if the doctor knew if Evan was really Evra. “…friend.”

Remy’s eyebrows arched up. “Hmmm, a friend. I see.”

Victor could smell that the doctor didn’t believe him, but he didn’t give a fuck. He tilted his head at the chair next to Evra. “Mind if I sit?”

The doctor’s eyebrows shot up higher than Victor thought possible, but gave a brief nod. He crossed to the chair, sat, placing a hand over Evra’s. It was odd for Victor to want to be close to someone other than Jimmy but the kid’s hold on him didn’t seem to be loosening.

The doctor’s eyes were burning a hole in Victor’s back.

“You sure you jus’ friends, _homme_?” Remy asked, coming around to the other side of the bed. He gently moved Marty’s cot over a few inches and glanced down at Evra. “I don’ judge.”

Victor lifted his lip in a snarl as he raised his eyes to Remy. “None o’ your business,” he sneered.

The doctor shrugged, reaching out to touch Evra’s forehead. Possessiveness flared in Victor and he knocked the man’s hand away. “Don’t,” he hissed.

“Don’ what?” Remy asked.

“Don’t touch the kid.”

Remy made a noise of disbelief, like he couldn’t believe that Victor would do and say such a thing. He reached out and his hand was smacked away again.

“Stop,” the doctor said firmly. “I’m tryin’ to help.”

Victor stood with a snarl, his grip still firm on Evra’s. He did _not_ want this man touching his mate. She was his; she belonged to him and only him. “I said _don’t_.”

Remy was incredulous but he raised his hand once more, a bright white light forming in his palm. “Or what?”

Victor’s mouth curled up in an evil smile.

 

~*~*~

 

**Evra**

 

Evra snapped into awareness.

A hand was holding hers - a large, warm hand. She turned her head to see Victor sitting in a chair next to her, her hand engulfed in his.

“Christ, kid,” he murmured, stroking her hair away from her face. “Ya scared th’ shit outta me.”

“You was dead fo’ thirty-two minutes dis time,” Dr. Laurent said from across the room. He was holding an icepack to his face and Evra caught the tang of blood.

She shifted and tried to sit up, but Victor’s hands pushed her back down onto the bed with something close to concern.

“Wha’ happened?” she asked groggily. “Marty—“

“He’s fine,” Victor said impatiently. “Leg’s good as new. Look kid, why didn’t ya tell me about that? That you could do … that.”

Evra smiled weakly at him. “None o’ your damn business.”

Her response caught him by surprise and he smiled back her, giving her hand a squeeze. Dr. Laurent moved towards the bed and Evra felt Victor tense slightly. She was puzzled until he lowered the icepack, revealing a large bruise on the side of his face. Evra whipped her head back to Victor, whose lips were stretched in a snarl.

“He touched you,” he growled. “He put his hands on you an’ –“

Rage exploded in Evra.

She was _not_ property. She was _not_ a possession. There was something animal and sexual between them that she couldn’t deny, but hearing Victor insinuate even a little that he had ownership over her pushed her beyond any sort of attraction she had for him.

“ _I don’t belong t’ you_ ,” Evra hissed.

Victor’s grip on her hand tightened, his amber eyes flaring with fury. She glared at him, baring her teeth. It was foolish, she knew. Evra was aware that she was in a submissive position, flat on her back, while the large man loomed over her. He could easily clamp his teeth on her neck before she’d have a chance to react.

Instead, Victor dropped his eyes with a sneer but Evra knew this wasn’t over between them. She’d fight him tooth and nail in order to show him that she only belonged to herself; Evra would never be submissive to a man again, not since Daniel, not since she received her powers. He loosened his hold on her hand but didn’t release it.

Evra sat up and motioned for Remy to come closer. He hesitated, his eyes flicking towards Victor. “Don’t look at him,” she snapped. “He’s not in charge of me.”

“ _Non_ ,” the doctor said, grabbing her wrist. “You were dead. I can’t –“

“Shut up,” she said, pulling her wrist away. Before he could protest again, she slapped her hand over the bruise, causing him to wince. “That’s for bein’ an ass.”

Evra pushed a little and a quick flare of silvery-green light pulsed from her hand to his cheek. The bruise vanished. Remy lifted his hand and touched hers briefly.

“ _Merci_ , _ch_ _ère_.”

“Wait,” Victor said as he got to his feet, his hand still over Evra’s. “He knows you’re—“

“A _femme_?” Remy answered, his voice playful. “ _Oui_. I _am_ a doctor. I find t’ings out.”

Victor ignores him. “Who else knows?”

“It don’t matter,” Evra retorted, her eyes flashing. It ain’t your business.”

Victor’s face contorted into a snarl as he glared down at her. “It _is_ my business, kid. You’re my--" He snapped his mouth shut.

The hair on the back of Evra’s neck stood up but before she could react, Remy spoke.

“Look, I don’ wan’ to be interruptin’ a couple’s spat, but I gotta get movin’,” He jerked his thumb towards the door. “Connor Mclean—“

“Marty.” Evra demanded.

“Fine,” Remy said, waving his hand over the unconscious man. “Pulse is  _bien_ , no sign of infection.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood, Victor a warm, hulking presence beside her. She tried to tug her hand away, but he refused to let go and she was too weak to fight him.

Evra began shuffling towards the door, fatigue coursing through her. The only thing she could think of was getting into bed and sleeping the sleep of the dead. She chuckled to herself at the irony.

“Wait,” Dr. Laurent said, reaching out for her.

Victor bared his teeth and planted himself between Evra and the doctor. Remy dropped his arm. Evra didn’t turn to look at the doctor, but she did stop, giving him permission to continue.

“Come back tomorrow,” he said. “We can check da rest now da leg is done.”

“We’ll _both_ be back,” Victor replied callously, not bothering to hide his dislike for the auburn-haired man. “Count on it.”

Victor pulled Evra towards him and pushed her past Remy and out the door. She didn’t bother to struggle, but instead leaned on him, weak and depleted. It bothered her that she needed his strength to help her down the hallway.

When she noticed he was urging her towards the hotel, she dug in her heels; her room was not on this side. Evra opened her mouth to speak, but Victor shushed her.

“Yer coming t’ my room,” Victor growled quietly in her ear.

“Mr. Creed—“

“Just so’s I can keep an eye on ya,” he replied.

Evra conceded and as soon as he saw there was no one in sight, he scooped her up into his strong arms and carried her the rest of the way.

She didn’t bother to fight; she’d do it tomorrow.

~*~*~

**Victor**

 

The kid was completely out when Victor kicked the door to his room closed. Evra didn’t even stir as he started to undress her, pulling off her trousers, yanking her shirt over her head, until she was clad in only a pair of saggy boxers and the binding that concealed her breasts.

Victor considered both for a moment and then tugged the boxers off. He began to unwind the bandage, letting it coil on the floor.

Skin to skin contact was the best way to help her heal and that meant getting as much flesh available as possible. They’d already done depraved and disgusting things to each other, so what was a little nudity?

Evra could be mad at him later, he thought as he lifted her into bed. She stirred slightly, sighing as he pulled the covers over her. Victor finished undressing, got into the bed and pulled her close to him, her back flush against his chest.

She moaned and he stroked her stomach lightly, letting a soft purr work its way from his chest. Another sound came from her – this one happier – and she snuggled into him, a smile on her lips.

The beast shifted within, excited that Evra was helpless beside him.

 _Mate_ , it insisted, reminding Victor of her sublime taste and the feel of her body underneath his. _Take_.

What the fuck, Victor thought. He could be extremely patient but he found it wearing thin. He needed to get moving, find Jimmy. He’d wasted enough time here. He’d wasted enough time on her.

Evra made no sound as Victor arranged her on her back, her head lolling on her neck. He climbed over her and buried his nose in her rust-coloured hair, breathing in the smell of raspberries and rich soil, letting it infuse him.

_Take now._

Victor parted Evra’s legs with his knee and the scent of her womanhood filled his senses. She wasn’t ready for him, but that had never been an issue. Slowly, he licked the side of her neck, the place where her pulse beat steadily under her skin.

Evra let out a little moan, but didn’t wake. Victor licked it again, then began to suck the flesh. She moaned again and bucked her hips against his leg, the moan changing to a low growl as she did it again. She still did not open her eyes.

“Good girl,” Victor whispered in her ear.

Slowly, deliberately, he slid his cock into her. Evra let out a strangled cry as he pushed deeper, knowing she could take him all the way. As Victor began to thrust, she bared her teeth in a soundless snarl and squirmed beneath him.

Her writhing only served to arouse him further and with a growl, he fucked into her harder, his mouth hovering over her pulse.

The steady beat of Evra’s heart sped up, her breath coming faster as he urged her towards orgasm, the rise and fall of her chest brushing against his. The walls of her pussy started to flutter and the little gasps escaping her lips told Victor she was close.

He was amazed her body would react to him so eagerly, despite being unconscious. Most of the others he fucked in this condition never responded; it was done strictly for his own pleasure. The fact Evra moved against him, even in her lifeless state, spoke of the bond they were building between them. It could only get stronger—stronger than the one he shared with Jimmy.

Suddenly, Evra keened and arched up into him, her eyes fluttering wildly.

Victor struck.

His teeth sunk into her neck smoothly, digging hard into her aorta, blood spurting deep into his mouth. It was hot and spicy, sweet and delicious. Victor gulped it down greedily, continuing to thrust into her as she shoved against him weakly.

Evra’s body was beginning to shut down as her blood coursed into Victor, coating his tongue and throat. Soon, her breathing became shallow, her pulse slowing. She tried to speak his name, but only let out a sigh as she died.

Victor pulled his mouth from her throat and threw his head back with a satisfied roar as he emptied himself into her cooling body. A few flicks of his hips made sure he was completely drained before her collapsed next to Evra.

He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her slack mouth, smearing blood over her lips. “You did real good, kid,” he said softly. “Real, real good.”

Victor kept close to her until, seven minutes later, Evra’s chest shuddered as it took in a giant breath. He waited to make sure she was breathing and her heart was thumping steadily before getting to his feet.

He pulled on his clothes, keeping one eye on Evra. She sighed and rolled back onto her side, still sound asleep despite everything.

Victor crossed the room and stroked a large hand down her back. She murmured softly as he pulled the sheet back over her before leaning down.

“You’re mine now, girl” he said. “I’m gonna show you the world.”

Victor left, letting the door close loudly behind him. “I’m comin’ for you, Jimmy,” he whispered. “An’ you’re in for a hell of a surprise.”

 

 


	4. Play Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is connected by a string named Victor Creed.

 

I am not the only traveler  
Who has not repaid his debt  
I've been searching for a trail to follow again  
Take me back to the night we met

And then I can tell myself  
What the hell I'm supposed to do  
And then I can tell myself  
Not to ride along with you

 

\- _The Night We Met_ by Lord Huron

  

**Evra**

_The sand was soft and welcoming under her body. The billions upon millions of grains provided a softer place to rest than any bed she’d ever slept in._

_There was no sky above her, no puffy white clouds or golden sun shining down; the atmosphere above her was a soothing white. A white canvas that had yet to inspire an artist, a white muslin dress that had yet to be worn and washed to greyness._

_This was the place where she had no name. The only thing she knew was that she was female; it was more than just knowledge, it was an innate sense of self, who she was beyond the water and sand. It was more that the globes on her chest and the slit between her legs._

_It was peaceful here. She was never afraid here._

_She’d been here fairly recently, the sand still warm from her previous visit. Her fingers dug in easily, finding the wet, clumpy stuff underneath. It wedged under her nails leaving dark, gritty half moons. She wasn’t worried; they would wash away once she got into the water._

_She rose and moved towards the water line, stopping to dip a toe in. She always did it but never knew why. The liquid was viscous— more of a syrupy quality than water—and it was always temperate._

_It felt good as she waded in, the smooth, thick liquid lapping against her skin. She waded out further and slipped onto her back, enjoying the bright nothingness above her and the weight of the water._

_A look to her right brought the shore back in to view. It was empty of sunbathers and swimmers. Instead, two dots appeared, one black, one not._

_The fist dot was black, in the shape of a wolf. She knew that wolf. It lived inside of her. The not black dot revealed itself to be a tiger, not a big one, but its orange and black stripes were bold and bright. Somehow, she knew this tiger lived inside her now too._

_Both animals seemed happy to see each other, scenting and licking each other, nipping at the other playfully._

_She watched them tease each other good-naturedly, pleased that her friends were getting along. It was going to be unusual to be both inside, but she could do it. If anyone could do it, she could._

_She felt rippling underneath her, disturbing the liquid, and then something brushed against her leg._

_Something breached the water, a huge wave of water exploding around it and the whiteness, the beach, the wolf and tiger vanished and she was underwater, the thick liquid filling her mouth and lungs as something pulled her down, down, down, so far down she didn’t think she’s be able to find the surface._

_Desperate, she kicked at the thing as hard as she could. She must have connected because the claws released and she pushed herself as far away as she could, aiming herself in the direction she thought was up._

_Gasping, she broke the surface and started to swim towards the shore where she spotted the wolf and tiger. They had merged to become one animal and it was pacing, agitated, unable to set foot in the water in order to save her._

_She felt the rumble before she heard it. The vibration caused the liquid to ripple as it moved up and out so that it filled the very air around her._

_A giant blonde tiger surface a few feet behind her and lunged at her with its giant paws, its claws extended. It was massive, bigger than her, bigger than her wolf-tiger, and it wanted._

_Oh, god, it wanted._

_It wanted her._

_Deep down, she knew she should try to get away, try to escape the very real threat that was in front of her but she didn’t. She eyed the tiger as it swam towards her, smiling at her with long, sharp canine teeth, teeth that could easily rip her apart._

_She shivered. In fear or in delight, she didn’t know._

_There was no resistance from her._

_The blonde tiger collected her in its paws gently, pulling her close to its massive body. She couldn’t move as the blonde tiger stared at her, licking its large, jagged teeth. Slowly, those teeth moved towards her until they were at her neck._

_“Victor,” she thought she said but maybe she didn’t because names were not permitted here._

_Either way, the blonde tiger didn’t understand or care. Its teeth sliced into her neck, digging deep, pulling away chunks of her flesh as it feasted, licking at the blood before it escaped her body to cloud the water._

_It felt good._

_She was limp as the blonde tiger kept dragging her down and down into the murky depths. It was going to be okay, though._

_She could take it._

_She could always take it._

 

~*~*~

 

**Jasmine**

 

 

Jasmine had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming when she saw Victor Creed in Madame O’s.

She knew by correspondence that he wasn’t dead, but he was supposed to fighting in the war, not coming to northern Alberta to partake in whores. Whores could be bought anywhere; there was nothing special about Madame’s.

When James Howlett had come through, she didn’t think much of it, but she should have known better. Creed hardly let Howlett out of his sight much less let him travel alone.

Dreams of that night still haunted her; visions of her Ma, Pa, and sister Pauline being ripped to shreds by a monster who masqueraded as a man, a large blonde creature named Victor Creed. The blood and the screams never left her alone.

It didn’t matter how the feral had come into her family’s life, she only cared about what he had done to her family. She only cared that she had left to fend for herself in Ireland and had managed to hide on a ship on its way to Canada.

It was there that Jasmine met others like herself, people who had lost loved ones to the rabid animal Creed. They were a group—a family—that took Jasmine in and showed her their ways.

She was taught how to spot a feral and how to kill one on sight. When she was deemed ready, she was sent to stay with Madame Olive Johnson, a woman who owned and operated a bordello in Fort McMurray, Alberta.

Olive was one of them, but she was not a fighter; she was a spotter, someone who alerted the Family when a feral was seen around her territory. She also mired herself in research, taking copious notes and burying herself in books.

Jasmine was a little afraid of the odd-looking woman—Olive was tough and shrewd, but sometimes there was a bit of madness in her smart grey eyes. However, between the two of them, Jasmine and Olive had managed to rid the world of three ferals.

Evan Kitney was supposed to be the fourth, but here it was two years later and the feral was still alive. Then Victor Creed came.

Jasmine had not slept well the past two days.

The first night, Evan had not come back to the bordello until the early morning. The second, she’d seen Victor Creed carrying Evan’s limp and unconscious body to his hotel room in the light of mid-morning.

The large man had come down multiple times to eat, to ask for clean washing up water, to demand clean sheets, and to drop off clothes to be laundered. Evan had not come down once.

It scared her because she knew what a man like Victor Creed was capable of and she didn’t want to think that Evan had the same capacity for evil within. Evan was kind, attentive, loving, perfect, everything Jasmine wanted.

That wasn’t to say that she didn’t know about the hunting, the chasing of prey, the need to the fight, but that was common in all ferals. It didn’t _have_ to progress any further than those needs. It didn’t mean they _all_ had to become monsters.

Jasmine refused to have that happen to the love of her life.

This wasn’t her first mission but it was the first one where she’d broken a rule—the most _sacred_ rule: never fall in love with a feral.

Had she meant for it to come this far? Of course not, but she’d never met anyone like Evan before in her life, someone who forged their own way, who was strong and sturdy, who knew right from wrong, who kissed Jasmine like their lives depended on it and made her feel things no one else had ever made her feel.

It had been hard _not_ to fall in love.

Then Victor Creed had to come along and spoil everything because if he was here, that meant The Family weren’t far behind. They would come and see how badly Jasmine failed and then they would kill Evan.

They would take away the only thing in her life that made it worth living. She wasn’t going to let that happen.

The morning found her hiding in shadows of the dining room, content that the smells of eggs, bacon, and steak on the grill would cover her scent. Once she saw Victor Creed come down, a smug smile on his face, and head towards Madame Olive’s office door, she scampered up the stairs and made her way to his room.

The door was unlocked and swung open noiselessly at the slightest push. She slipped in quietly.

Jasmine’s heart clenched when she saw Evan sprawled on the bed, the sheet barely covering the small but powerful body. Rust coloured hair was a shock against the whiteness of the pillowcase, the beautiful green eyes still shut against the light of the morning.

She crept to the bedside and knelt, reaching out a hand to brush her lover’s cheek gently. “Evra,” she whispered. “Evra, please wake up. Please.”

The other woman stirred, her eyes blinking into wakefulness. She turned her head and smiled at Jasmine, taking her fingers and kissing them softly. “Tol’ you t’ call me Evan when we’re in Madame’s,” she said, those perfect Cupid’s bow lips parting with a yawn.

Jasmine fought the urge to press a kiss to those lips and spared a glance over her shoulder. “You have to get up,” she said quietly. “We have to leave before Mr. Creed comes back.”

Evra’s face was puzzled as she pushed aside the sheet. “Why?”

Jasmine stood and began to collect her lover’s clothes. “Please, there’s not much time—“

A strong hand on her shoulder her spun her about and she found herself looking into Evra’s eyes. “What’re you natterin’ on about?”

Jasmine dropped her eyes immediately. Keeping eye contact with a feral when upset or agitated could set them on edge. That was the last thing she needed.

“You’re in danger, Evra,” she said softly. “We need leave.”

“Leave? But—“

Jasmine raised her eyes and her voice. “Victor Creed is a dangerous man. I don’t know if he’s done anything to you, but you’ll end up dead if you continue to keep his company.”

Surprisingly, her lover didn’t bristle or try to challenge her. “What d’ya mean?”

Relief washed over Jasmine; Evra was listening. “Get dressed, gather a few things and meet me in our regular spot by nine,” she said. “I’ll explain once we’re there.”

Evra took her hands in her own and stepped forward, leaning down to kiss her firmly on the mouth. Jasmine moaned and opened her lips, letting Evra’s tongue stroke hers unyieldingly. Her lover moved closer and Jasmine became aware that Evra was naked, her breasts pressing against her.

“Stop,” Jasmine gasped, pulling away. “Please, tell me you’ll be there.”

Evra tilted her head and gave her a smile. “I’ll be there.”

She gave her lover another small kiss and fled from the room, her hopes flying high. Soon, she and Evra will be away from here and safe. They could find a nice, small farm to live on and spend the rest if their lives together.

Love could make one do foolish things.

 

~*~*~

 

**Dr. Remy Laurent**

_He is picking his way through the destruction, hoping to find someone—_ anyone _—that was still alive. Dust was blowing hard and Remy adjusts the kerchief he’s tied around his mouth. He’s unable to keep it from blowing in his eyes, so he almost misses the man who is crying quietly._

_“I am Doctor Remy Laurent,” he says, kneeling down next to the man. “Let me look at your wounds.”_

_“No!” screams the man, trying to pull himself from Remy’s grip. “If there’s monsters like that in this world, I’d rather be dead!”_

_“Monsters aren’t real,_ m’sieur, _” Remy tries to keep his voice soothing, but he’s not even sure if he believes his own statement. Looking out over the plain, seeing the shredded canvas tents and the carved up bodies strewn over the dirt makes him reconsider._

_“What happened?”_

_“Monsters!” the man shrieks. “Two monsters, growling and ripping and tearing everything apart. One yellow, one dark. Oh, Jesus! The screams—THE SCREAMS!”_

_Before Remy can react, the man pulls out a small gun and presses it to his temple. He reaches out the grab at the man’s arm, but the gun pops and the man tumbles to the ground, yet another person Remy could not save._

_He manages to keep the tears from his eyes as he gets to his feet and begins to walk again. Every person he comes across is dead, torn to shreds; some are almost unrecognisable as human beings because they have been turned into bloody mush._

_“Do not bother, my boy,” says a cultured voice from the cloud of dust. “They are all quite gone. To a better world than this, one would hope.”_

_The wind ceases and Remy is able to see the man who has spoken. He is tall, dark haired, with a matching goatee. He is impeccably dressed in dark trousers, and a caramel coloured jacket. A scarf completes the look._

_“Are you a praying man, sir?” the man asks, taking a step towards Remy, as if the death and destruction at his feet doesn’t bother him in the least._

_“_ Non _,” Remy replies, pulling down the kerchief._

_The man chuckled. “Nor am I,” he said. “What is your name, young man?”_

_Remy is a polite man, raised with manners and breeding, so despite the strange feeling he’s getting, he reaches out a hand. “Doctor Remy Laurent.”_

_His hand is met with a firm grip and shook confidently. “A doctor, you say? I am one myself—Doctor Nathaniel Essex. But I am more a man of research. Evolution and that.”_

_“Forgive my rudeness,_ m’sieur _,” Remy says, gesturing to the corpses and devestation around them. “but dat has nothin’ to do wit’ dis.”_

_The smile that stretches across Essex’s face unnerves Remy. “Oh, my dear boy,” the doctor replies, “that’s where you are dead wrong.”_

~*~*~

 

His eyes snapped open and it took a few seconds for him to realise where he was—on the cot next to Marty’s in the nurse’s room—he’s not back in Coalspur surrounded by piles and piles of bloody corpses.

Remy ran a hand over his sweat-soaked face and sat up, noticing it was midmorning. His body was screaming for him to go back to sleep. The last few days had him run off his feet with Old Lady Winslow’s fractured tooth, Charles Hessler breaking his arm, Nancy Thurman’s baby deciding to make its appearance two weeks late, Marty being beaten half to death, and Connor McLean’s boil.

To say he was exhausted was a complete understatement but his work here never seemed to be done. Fort McMurray was a desolate place, not at all the kind of town Remy had been expecting to end up when he became a doctor but, in his chosen profession, he went where he was needed.

He was Acadian—born and raised in New Brunswick. He and his parents were the only ones left in the family that remained in the Dominion; many of the others had left for New Orleans, down in the American state of Louisiana, looking for work. Infrequent letters from them painted the place as a warm and wonderful Utopia with large cotton and sugar crops and jobs aplenty.

Remy had dreams of one day heading down and meeting up with his aunts, uncles, and cousins, but the plight of a doctor was never an easy one. Fort McMurray needed him, so here he stayed.

He slowly got to his feet and went to Marty. The man’s pulse was strong and sure, so he crossed the room to sit at the counter where his notebook lay. Remy dutifully recorded the time it had taken Evra to heal Marty as well as her own recovery stage. It seemed that it had taken less time for her to both mend and recuperate than it had the last time.

His colleague, Dr. Nathaniel Essex would be interested in that fact, Remy noted, and scribbled down a reminder to include it in his next letter. With a sigh, he leaned back and rubbed at his eyes.

He knew he shouldn’t be thinking of Evra. She was thirteen years his junior and involved in a relationship with Jasmine but that didn’t seem to stop him from conjuring her image time and again. Sometimes it made him feel like a dirty old man.

Remy’s affection for Evra had grown over the years, ever since the minute he’d laid eyes on the small, tough scrapper, a fifteen-year-old kid named Evan Kitney. The boy had been belligerent and arduous, refusing to remove his clothes. Of course, he found out why later, but it was too late by then.

He was already quite taken by the kid, by the swagger and robust nature in which Evra conducted herself. She was incredibly strong, never backed down from an opponent bigger than her, and always managed to grind her challengers into dog meat.

Remy never pictured himself being attracted to someone like that; he’d always envisioned settling down with a genteel woman, a lady who would be content to bear his children, darn his socks, cook his dinner and do it all with a smile.

Now that dream seemed silly, like an extension of the man he used to be. A sophisticated woman could never be happy being dragged all over God’s creation, being forced to settle in some small village or town where the people were rough and made their living off the land, a place where the climate was just one more thing that could kill you.

Remy needed a woman who was sturdy and durable, a woman who could handle herself in any situation, a woman like—

He shook his head to clear it of those asinine thoughts.

But then again, the arrival of this Victor Creed and the attention he paid Evra aroused jealousy in Remy, especially after the large man had the audacity to act as if she were his and his alone. Not only that, there was something odd about Creed, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Remy didn’t like how the man looked at her, how he touched her.

He knew he was being foolish; Evra could certainly take care of herself and she didn’t need Remy riding in on a white horse to her rescue.

He thought briefly of composing that letter to Dr. Essex or perhaps going to Creed’s room to check on Evra, but the pull towards sleep was too strong. Correspondence and jealousy disguised as check-ups could wait until later.

Lack of sleep could make one do foolish things.

 

~*~*~

 

**Madame Olive**

 

Olive Johnson was never a beautiful woman. She’d been an ugly baby and an even uglier toddler. Her awkward teenage years eased some of her dreadful looks, puberty helping out where it could—but it could only do so much.

She lived her life never expecting to get married of have any kind of sexual relationship; her father suggested Olive do the world a favour and join a convent, keep her unsightliness hidden from the rest of the world.

It was an idea she seriously considered—until she met Heath Feldman.

Heath Feldman was the son of a wealthy landowner, who happened to be a friend of her father’s. The young man was bright, having been educated at the newly established University of Alberta where he studied mathematics. He was accomplished and handsome and a man that most fathers would want to marry off their daughters to.

Olive and Heath had never met formally until a dance hall event being thrown by a shared associate of their fathers. It was really a party to celebrate the coming of age of his youngest daughter, so young men and women from around the area were invited in the hopes that the young girl might find a suitable match.

She was older than most of the men and women at the party, her invitation extended more out of propriety than the actual want of her company. She was already in her early 30s, an old maid in comparison to the twenty-somethings around her.

Oscar, Olive’s younger brother, was the complete opposite of his older sister. He was handsome but dim-witted and always the life of any party. This particular night found Oscar doing just that, laughing and joking, dancing with any pretty lady who caught his eye.

Olive was content to sit in the corner, having the foresight to have brought a book. She was enjoying the prose of Jack London when a shadow fell over her, effectively blocking her light. She looked up to find a young man around her age standing next to her, studying her intently.

It didn’t bother her; she was used to people staring at her odd looks, so she went back to reading her book. A few moments passed before the man cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said. “Is that _Call of the Wild_ you’re reading?”

Olive didn’t glance up. “Yes,” she replied.

There was shuffling and scraping as the young man pulled up a chair and sat down across from her. “I must admit my surprise that a lady of your stature wouldn’t be frightened by the descriptions of such violence.”

She closed the book and placed it on her lap, perturbed. “You do not know me at all,” she retorted, acid in her voice. “I am not easily frightened nor am I a swooning, foolish caricature of womanhood. Life is full of violence and pain and if one thinks otherwise, they are imprudent.”

The young man didn’t seem taken aback by Olive’s harsh and unladylike words. Instead, he smiled at her and held out a gloved hand. “My name is Heath Feldman and it is beyond a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Olive finally looked up into the face of the man who would change her life. His touch, even through the fabric, was electric. “I am Olive Johnson,” she said, “and you are wasting your time with me.”

Heath laughed, the sound lighting up his hazel eyes. “Oh, I doubt very much you’re going to waste _any_ of my time, Miss Johnson,” he replied with a charming smile. “I doubt that very much.”

 

~*~*~

 

Heath was relentless in his pursuit of Olive, much to her father’s surprise.

Olive was twelve years Heath’s senior, certainly well past childbearing age, and if she managed to produce a child, there was no guarantee that it would possess any of the young man’s good looks. Mr. Johnson couldn’t fathom why such a handsome young man would want to woo his oldest daughter but he allowed the relationship to continue, more out of curiosity than anything else.

A year of courting led to a proposal, which was happily given. The couple were to be wed in the spring in six months time. Both Heath and Olive were elated, happy they were to become man and wife.

Of course, being betrothed meant that chastity must be upheld for the upcoming wedding night, but Olive had lost the right to wear white eight months before the proposal had been made.

Heath was happy to teach her the art of mathematics, the art of business, and more importantly, the art of lovemaking.

They were content to be in each other’s arms, slick with sweat and breathless from exertion and it didn’t matter where; the Johnson’s barn, the Feldman’s empty sitting room, the water closet of an acquaintance—wherever they could be alone.

The night of the proposal was no different; the couple snuck out to celebrate down by the river that snaked through the Johnson’s seemingly endless property where they wouldn’t be seen or heard. It would be just the two of them in the darkening autumn dusk, getting drunk on the pleasures of each other’s body until they were sated. It was going to be sheer happiness.

It was not to last.

An hour later found them satisfied, Olive curled in the crook of her future husband’s arm, her head resting on his naked chest. Dusk was beginning, its indigo light unfurling over the orange, snuffing out the brightness of the day.

Olive raised her head and looked down into Heath’s dark hazel eyes. “Why do you love me?”

It was a foolish question—a foolish woman’s question, she knew—but it was suddenly imperative Olive know the answer. He placed a sweet kiss on her lips and opened his mouth answer, but that’s as far as he got.

A loud roar shook the earth—the sound of a creature that was half-crazed—and Olive found herself being dragged away from Heath, screaming as sharp nails pierced into the skin of her legs.

Something large threw itself on Heath and the oncoming darkness didn’t let Olive see much, only a giant shadow. Her fiancée was trying to scream but all that came from him were gurgled cries filled with blood as the creature tore him apart. There were snarls and snaps of teeth as blood and chunks of her lover’s flesh flew everywhere and all she could do was scream.

A hand clamped over Olive’s mouth and she was pulled up tight against a small, firm body. “Don’t,” said a rough voice. “Let ‘im finish an’ maybe he won’t do you next.”

The man smelled of wild, of sweat and mud and blood and skin and heat. As much as Olive wanted to struggle, she was frozen in horror as Heath was devoured by the monster. Tears cascaded down her cheeks—tears of terror and helplessness—but she remained quiet, not wanting the attention of the creature.

She had never been more frightened in all of her life and she was sure the man holding her could hear her heart beating as if to escape from her chest.

“Good girl,” whispered the man as she trembled. “It’ll be done soon.”

He was right; only a few more moments passed before the fiend sat back with a satisfied sigh, Heath an unrecognizable bloody pulp before him. Olive whimpered behind her captor’s hand and the creature whipped around to look at her.

It was a man, but there was no humanity in his amber eyes. His long blonde hair fell to his waist tangled, unwieldy, and streaked with the blood of her dead love. The man’s face could be considered handsome if it wasn’t twisted into a vicious snarl filled with sharp teeth stained red. He was huge, muscular, with broad shoulders and he moved like a tiger, all ripples and bunched strength under his skin.

“What do we have here?” he growled in a deep bass voice.

The man who held her turned her away slightly. “Leave ‘er alone, Victor,” he said harshly. “You’ve eaten yer fill.”

The large monster—Victor—picked at a pointed incisor with a long, lethal looking nail, then ran his tongue over his lips. “Jimmy,” he replied. “I ain’t never had my fill.”

“I said leave her!” The small man’s voice was loud enough to make the other one put up his hands.

“Fine, fine,” said Victor, “but I’m gonna have a little fun first.”

The smile he gave Olive was full of teeth and flesh and gore.

She would never forget it and was not shocked when she saw the very same smile many years later.

Revenge could make one do foolish things.

 


	5. Play Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is starting to come together for Victor Creed. Soon, he'll have what he wants and Jimmy won't stand a chance.

When the night was full of terrors  
And your eyes were filled with tears  
When you had not touched me yet  
Oh, take me back to the night we met

 

- _The Night We Met_ by Lord Huron

 

* * *

 

 

**Olive**

 

When Olive Johnson saw Victor Creed’s smile for the second time in many, many years, she was not shocked.

She was also not surprised that he looked exactly the same age as he had that night he’d torn her Heath apart while she had grown wrinkled and grey, her knees aching every time it threatened to rain.

Neither he nor James Howlett gave any indication they’d recognized her, not then and not when they became regulars to her establishment. Both men still smelled the way she remembered; Howlett of sweat and wild heat and Creed of her dead lover’s blood. Olive knew they didn’t really carry those scents, but the odours lingered for her; they were something she’d never forget.

Olive began her long and meticulous records of their visits, their needs, what whore they demanded, what they ate, and how they acted. She sent every single bit of information she gathered on them to The Family.

She would gladly send anything she found out about any feral to the group committed to killing Victor Creed. Every little bit helped.

Then Evan Kitney came into Olive’s life.

She’d known immediately what the kid was the second he swooped in to save her from the assault. Jasmine knew the second she brought the feral back to the bordello with the pretence of giving the kid a job.

It was only to keep an eye on Evan at first, gauge the type of feral he was, but after a few weeks, once Jasmine informed Olive that Evan was actually Evra—a female feral—things started to change.

Olive knew that female ferals were rare, and when Evra showed she was an alpha, she knew the feral was rarer still. She didn’t know how atypical until she wrote to The Family under the guise of fleshing out her research.

The information they sent back horrified and sickened Olive.

If she were to turn Evra in, The Family would torture her, rape her until they broke her, and once she was subdued and docile, use her to entrap feral males.

Evra was a sweet kid, still a girl really, a brawler with a heart of gold. Olive knew that the story she used as Evan was false, but her past seemed to hold dark secrets Evra wasn’t willing to share. The Madame knew the kid had to have been affected by what had happened to her but the feral tried not to let it shape who she was.

The kid deserved better than the fate that awaited her at the hands of The Family and Olive knew it. She did her best to hide Evra from that moment on. She and Jasmine agreed that the organization didn’t have to hear of her; they could keep her safe.

When Howlett showed up without Creed, Olive had immediately contacted The Family and hurriedly sent Evra away under the guise of an errand so the dark haired feral wouldn’t notice the kid—and so that The Family wouldn’t discover her secret. Howlett eluded The Family, vanishing before they showed up. Evra came back safely, and all was well.

Then Victor Creed had come, dressed in a suit and looking for Howlett. Olive hadn’t had time to dispatch Evra on another phoney job. Creed had found the kid. Feral had discovered feral.

Olive _had_ to contact The Family; she couldn’t let Creed go unpunished for the sake of Evan’s continued secret existence. Of course she and Jasmine had argued about it, but they both came to the conclusion that Creed had to pay for his crimes, and if that meant they were put to death for harbouring a feral, so be it.

Now doubt preyed on her mind. Evra was harmless, just a kid who was beginning to live her life. Should Olive turn her over just she could have her revenge? Was she truly angry enough to sacrifice someone she cared deeply about when she’d lost so much?

She burned with shame when she thought of the Evra. She was the dirty little secret that she and Jasmine shared, a huge, complicated lie that both had protected for two years—and now it was in danger of being discovered.

Olive sat at her desk, reading the reply to the letter she’d sent, praying for someway— _anyway_ —that she could save Evra’s life. The kid was special, strong, meant to live. Anger and hatred had taken away so many years of her life. She could let her go, but how?

Her eyes were burning with tears as she held the letter that cause her chest to clench when Victor Creed opened her door.

“How much for the kid?”

 

* * *

 

  **Evra**

Evra had just finished securing her binding and was buttoning her trousers when Victor came into the room. The door clicked shut behind him and she heard him inhale, scenting the air.

“Why was Jasmine here?” he asked.

Evra didn’t respond; she didn’t owe him an explanation. She turned to tell him just that but the words died in her throat as she caught his scent. It seemed subtly different, the wood smoke and lightning overlaid with the slightest hint of freshly turned soil—her aroma. Surprised, her eyes snapped up to his face and he gave her a seductive smile, his amber gaze absolutely sinful.

The look he gave lit a fire in Evra, heated up her skin to the point of pain, but she pushed it aside. Healing Marty and talking to Jasmine were priority.

“Thanks fer lookin’ after me last night,” Evra muttered, reaching for her shirt. “I owe ya.”

Victor’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. “Don’t,” he said softly.

The commanding tone in his voice made her lip curl in contempt. No one ordered her to do _anything_. She lifted her head with a snarl, letting Victor know she wasn’t about to be ordered around. Evra tried to twist her hand from his grip, but that only made him tighten his grasp as he smiled at her, amused by her reaction. She reached for her shirt with her other hand and he grabbed that wrist as well.

“C’mere.” Victor yanked her against him.

Evra growled this time—a warning.

 _Mate_.

With that, Evra could feel every inch of his body as acutely as she could feel her own heartbeat. He was pulsing against her, throbbing with need. Victor leaned down and brushed his lips against her hair.

“Evra,” he murmured close to her ear.

She felt his hot breath on her skin, right over the spot where her pulse fluttered fiercely.

 _Mate_ , the tiger/wolf inside her growled.

No, she thought, not mate.

 _Mate_.

Her body became hot with want.

Evra whimpered, unsure and frightened by the strange sensation in her chest, a peculiar thumping that was beating in time with a heart that wasn’t hers. It was if Victor was already _within_ her, in her blood and soul; an essence burning along her veins like fire. She ached for him, needing to touch his body, wanting to taste his flesh, his sweat. It was magnetic.

_Mate._

Evra couldn’t stop herself; she tilted her head back and showed him her neck. “Victor,” she said hoarsely as his barbed tongue chafed the tender skin. It abraded her flesh to the point of pain but she craved it, tangling her hands in his loose hair and pulling him closer.

His sharp teeth grazed her pulse, a single prick allowing her blood to ooze slowly. He made a sound between a growl and a groan and he began pushing her down onto the bed, his mouth clashing against hers, his tongue hungry as it found its way past her lips.

Victor started to tug her binding from her body and it felt as if his hands were everywhere at once, stroking her, caressing her, sliding over her flesh, fuelling the inferno of her need.

She barely had time to form a thought before Victor crawled over top of her, caging her in underneath his massive body. His beautiful face was inches from hers and his amber eyes were alive with lust.

“I’m wanna taste you,” Victor murmured against her lips.

He licked once over her mouth before starting to move down her body, his tongue savouring her skin. Evra groaned, arching her body up towards his mouth, not wanting Victor to miss a single inch of her flesh. He chuckled as went lower, his hands undoing and pulling off her trousers.

“Greedy girl,” he whispered, his warm breath raising goose pimples on her arms and legs. “Greedy, greedy girl.”

She mewled softly as Victor’s lips ghosted over her stomach and travelled down to her thighs. Eagerly, she parted her legs for him and was rewarded with another chuckle. He stopped as soon as he was between them.

Evra almost begged for his lips and tongue but she stopped herself, still perplexed as to what was happening. She could almost blame it on the primal need of the feral, the urge that couldn’t be denied, but it was even deeper than that. There was a connection to Victor that she hadn’t felt the last time they were together.

It was a desperate need to be with him, to give herself to him in ways she hadn’t considered. Evra still craved the violence they’d shown each other the night before, still knew that this was important to her nature, to her beast, but the thought of being without Victor physically pained her and she moaned as that agony swept through her.

Her moan turned from pain to pleasure as his tongue finally brushed against her swollen clit. She cried out, one hand pulling at his hair, the other clutching at the bedpost.

“More?” Victor murmured, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of her thigh.

Evra was going mad with want and she didn’t appreciate the teasing. “If you’re gonna fuckin’ do it, do it,” she growled. “If you ain’t, get offa me so I can get some breakfast.”

She felt him smile against her skin. “Goddamn, girl,” he purred. “You got a mouth on ya.”

Evra bucked her hips. “Then shut me up.”

She saw Victor’s amber eyes glinting with desire before his tongue began its work and she soon lost the ability to form even the simplest of words.

 

* * *

 

  **Victor**

“If you’re gonna fuckin’ do it, do it,” Evra growled, her hand pulling his hair tightly. “If you ain’t, get offa me so I can get some breakfast.”

Her words caused a white-hot heat to explode in Victor’s groin and he had to fight not to come right at that moment. Never had backtalk from a woman excited him so much. He wanted more of it.

“Goddamn it, girl. You got a mouth on ya.” Victor was purring in anticipation, awaiting her reply, craving her insolence.

“Then shut me up.” Evra panted, bucking her hips.

Fuck, did he love a challenge, especially since she was right there, goading him on, daring him to do it. Victor rasped his tongue over her clit and was rewarded with a moan so deep, it reverberated in his chest.

Being like this with Evra—Jesus, it was all he’d been able to think about since he’d claimed her. It’d be different than the first time they’d clashed together; it’d be _more_.

He licked her firmly and she began writhing and wildly bucking her hips against his mouth. She was like a bitch in heat.

Victor clamped his hands on her hips and drove his claws into her flesh, deep enough to scrape her hipbones. He knew she loved the blood and the pain as much as he did. Evra cried out and fisted the bed sheet, grinding her pussy hard against Victor’s mouth as she came, her delectable juices coating his tongue and lips.

Goddamn, she tasted extraordinary. There wasn’t a place on her body that wasn’t luscious to him; her lips, her mouth, her skin, her sweat, her pussy—every part of her was fucking magnificent.

He couldn’t wait to share her with Jimmy.

 _Jimmy_.

At the thought of the runt, anger shot through Victor, mixing with the lust already devouring him. Snarling, her dug his fingers hard into the flesh of Evra’s thighs. She gasped and sat up suddenly, the act of her movement sending a whiff of her wetness straight to his senses. He needed to be inside of her— _now_.

Victor yanked her towards the end of the bed and she yelped as he grabbed her around the waist, hoisting her up as he stood. Evra wrapped her legs around him as he shoved her up against the wall.

Her fingernails pierced the skin of his shoulder blades and he snarled against her neck, his body on fire as she responded with her own, her teeth sinking deep into his collarbone.

She was open for him, ready, so Victor thrust up as he pulled her down, impaling her on his hard cock.

“Victor,” she cried as he pushed himself deep into her pussy with a grunt.

Victor wanted to be as far in her as he could get, so he kept pressing further and further until he bottomed out. Evra let out a strangled yell and convulsed around his cock, causing him to buck his hips.

“Fuck,” he hissed as he stilled himself.

He wanted her to feel every inch of him inside of her, to show her how crazy she made him. He grasped her hips, holding her down as his balls throbbed with the want to release.

Evra mewled as Victor denied her the urge to move her body. She squirmed, the walls of her pussy fluttering tightly around his shaft and he groaned, placing his forehead against hers.

“Victor,” she gasped, “please.”

And that was it.

Hearing Evra beg was the thing that drove him over the edge.

He pulled back slightly and rammed back in, shouting as he released his seed deep into her. She howled as she scraped her nails down his back, leaving deep, bloody welts that made him snarl and shove into her again, draining the last of his come.

“Jesus Christ,” Victor panted, laying one hand flat against the wall. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

They stayed liked that for a few moments, gasping and sweating, Victor still inside of Evra. He was almost euphoric; she was more than he could have wanted. How was she here, in all places? How had Jimmy not noticed her?

It didn’t matter now. To the Victor go the spoils.

Goddammit, he was hooked.

“Is that all you got?” Evra asked hoarsely.

“Girl,” Victor purred, carrying her back to the bed, “I’m jus’ gettin’ started.”

 

* * *

 

  **Evra**

The grumbling of Evra’s stomach woke her from an extremely deep sleep, the best one she’d had since … well, since she’d last lain with Victor.

Groaning, Evra rose from bed, Victor purring softly behind her. He didn’t open his eyes as he rolled over and hugged her pillow close to his body. His warmth and scent were enticing; she fought the urge to climb on top of him and ride him until he begged for mercy.

Evra should have had her fill of Victor by now considering how insatiable they’d been but she could have easily crawled back onto the bed to demand more. She knew she’d get it.

She stood and crossed to the water basin to wash away the smell of sweat and the stickiness between her legs. Evra needed a proper bath but this would have to do for now. She had more important things to worry about—like Jasmine.

“Where you goin’?” Victor’s voice was sleepy and hoarse and it tickled her skin lightly.

She fought the urge to shiver as she rubbed the damp cloth over her shoulders. “Promised Jasmine I’d meet with her,” she replied. “I’m already late.”

Victor sat up, swinging his long legs over the edge of the bed. “You ain’t goin’,” he said.

Evra heard the authority in his voice and she felt her lips curl over her teeth. He held one hand up, the other rubbing lazily at the back of his neck. “It’s not like that, kid,” he said. “She’s already gone. Olive told me she spilt early this morning.”

Ice water shot through her veins. “What? Why?”

Victor shrugged and stood. “Thought you might know. Thought maybe she came by t' say goodbye or some shit.”

Jasmine had been so vague and desperate that morning as she practically begged Evra to leave with her, babbling about _danger_ and how Evra would die if she stayed in Creed’s company. She’d tried to comfort Jasmine by showing her she was loved, but the girl had fled Evra’s embrace.

Her heart ached at the thought of her lover leaving but perhaps it was for the best. Jasmine would be free to marry and start her own family, something she could have never done with Evra.

“Maybe she ran off with a trapper,” she said, reaching for her shirt. As she held it up, it practically fell apart in her hands, the ribbons of cotton falling to the floor. She looked up at Victor who was trying his best to look innocent. Her pants were in the same shape, tattered and torn into strips of fabric.

“Must’ve been a bit more handsy than I thought,” he purred, his amber eyes hooded. He came towards her, lowering his head to place a kiss behind her ear. Evra started to melt against him, but caught herself and pushed away.

“I got nothin’ to wear,” she snapped. “I ain’t leavin’ this room naked.”

Victor chuckled, reached down next to the small dresser and pulled out a small rucksack that Evra recognised as hers. She opened her mouth to speak, but was silenced as he pulled out a dress.

It was dark green, long-sleeved, and floor length and she spotted an apron poking out from the bag. “I’m not wearin’ that,” she said, taking a step back.

“C’mon,” Victor said, thrusting it towards her. “Sophie gave it t’ me. I want you to wear it.”

Evra knocked his hand aside. “I don’t give a shit what you want,” she snarled. “I ain’t wearin’ it!”

He dropped the dress and grabbed her. “Put th’ fuckin’ dress on, Evra,” he said quietly, his voice threatening. “You’re leavin’ with me after yer done with Marty. I own you now.”

Evra went completely still. “What?”

His words caused her body to disconnect from herself and her voice sounded hollow, distant. Two years ago, she had vowed to never belong to _anyone_ , especially not a man. Daniel had beaten that sense of independence in to her. Evra was her own person.

“I bought you from Madame O.” Victor growled.

“You bought—?” Evra’s voice trailed off.

The fuse had been lit when Victor said he owned her and it burned bright and hot until he said he’d bought her—peddled by Madame Olive like she was some kind of harlot, existing only for the pleasure of men. She barely heard what Victor said after that because she exploded and pushed at him with all of her might.

The shocked look on his face was almost comical as he went flying backwards, the bed cracking in two as his weight fell on it at full force.

“ _You do not own me_!” Evra screamed, clenching her fists by her sides, spittle flying from her mouth as she advanced on Victor, fists aiming for his face. “ _I am not a thing! I am a human being!”_

He grabbed at her as soon she was close enough and jerked her down on top of him. She kept trying to hit him as she fell, but it was useless. Once she was down, she ceased pummelling him, her head drooping to his chest. For the first time in a long time, Evra felt truly beaten. Defeat was heavy on her body, weighing her down, despair hot and sour as it filled her. Her throat tightened and she astounded herself as she began to cry.

“She had no right,” Evra sobbed, her tears falling on to Victor’s torso. “To sell me like a common whore, I—“

Her voice broke and she wept harder, her body slack against him, her hands curling around his shoulders. “I am _not_ a whore,” she whimpered. “I am _not_.”

Victor’s hand was on her back, heavy and comforting. “It ain’t like that, Evra,” he said softly. “I’m gonna take you everywhere, show you the world."

The way Victor said her name made Evra look up. His face was blurry because of her tears but she could tell he was being genuine. “But you said you bought—“

His hand moved to her hair, his thick fingers carding gently through the strands. “It was th’ only way she’d let you go,” he explained. “We’re a mated pair an’ I ain’t goin’ anywhere without you, Evra.”

She could feel the little beat in her chest hammering like mad in time with Victor’s heart. She wondered if he could sense how hard her own heart was beating as she lay pressed to his body.

“I—I don’t know what to say.”

Victor pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Don’t say anythin’, kid. Just put on the fuckin’ dress, huh?”

Evra couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from her chest. “Give me the damn thing,” she said as she sat up carefully.

She would do anything for Victor—anything at all.

 

* * *

 

  **Dr. Remy Laurent**

The closing of the door woke Remy from sleep.

“If you’re ‘ere to ravish me,” Remy said drowsily, eyes still closed, “you gon’ have t’ do all de work. _Je suis_ _fatigue_ after three days of runnin’ all over town.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Evra growled teasingly as he sat up and yawned, stretching before planting his feet on the floor. “Too bad you smell like bear that fell into an outhouse.”

The doctor huffed as he crossed to the sink in order to splash cool water on his face. “You don’ fart _parfum_ yourself, Kit,” he shot back.

She laughed and he turned away, unbuttoning his shirt. “How’s Marty?”

The fabric whispered against Remy’s skin as he pulled the stained and stinking shirt from his body. “ _Bien_. He sleep all night an’ his leg is better’n new.”

He pulled on a clean top and turned around, his eyes widening in surprise as he noticed what Evra was wearing. It was a dress— _a dress_ —covered by a long apron. Remy admired how it clung to her buxom frame, emphasizing her soft roundness and giving little hint to the strength that lay beneath it. It fit a little tight around her chest, but that didn’t bother him any. Her rust coloured hair had been brushed to a shine, the ends curling gently around her ears and the back of her neck.

“You look nice, Kit,” Remy said.

She blushed and ducked her head and his heart stuttered. “It won’t take me too long t’ fix th’ rest,” Evra said, choosing to ignore his compliment. “I gotta eat first. Come with me. Keep me company?”

“I t’ought da big man was keepin’ you comp’ny dese days.” It was supposed to be a joke, but Remy heard the air of accusation in his voice and cursed himself. He hadn’t meant to let his jealousy show and now it was out in the open, hanging between them.

“You don’t know nothin’ about that,” Evra said, the blush fading from her cheeks.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. He decided to go forward; he’d already come this far.

“I don’ like de way he look at you, Kit,” Remy said softly. “It’s like you piece o’ meat an’ he jus’ a big kitty cat wantin’ t’ gobble you right up,” He crossed the room and cupped Evra’s cheek tenderly. “A man like dat ain’t nothin’ but trouble an’ I don’ wanna see you hurt.”

Goddammit, Remy hadn’t meant for any of this to happen, but he was frustrated and in love. The urge to tell her was just too great, as if he could sense something coming on the horizon. Something bad.

She brushed his hand away, none too gently. “It ain’t like you haven’t got your fair share o’ cunts n’ cock vyin’ for th’ chance t’ play doctor with you, Remy,” Evra snapped.

Remy turned away quickly to hide the look of hurt on his face. She’d never spoken to him like that before, her voice full of venom and her words full of spite.

Evra _was_ right, of course; there was no shortage of men and women who found Remy attractive and who worked hard to get him between the sheets, but he had never succumbed to the offers. Doing his job as a doctor was important to him and he hadn’t wanted to become distracted by starting a relationship. At least, that’s what Remy kept telling himself. Now here he was at 30, in love with a 17-year-old girl who liked to pretend she was a man.

None of that stopped her statement from causing an all too familiar ache within him.

A heavy silence settled between them as Evra went to sit next to Marty and began to unwrap the gauze from his face. Remy couldn’t bear the thought of Evra being mad with him.

He hadn’t meant to hurt her but he’d been foolish, riding in on his white horse, desperate to save his damsel in distress. Remy cursed his idiocy and dragged a hand down his face. Evra didn’t need him; she’d never need him and he had to accept that.

He took a deep breath and turned back towards her. “I din’ mean to upset you, Kit,” he said softly. “I jus’—“

“Don’t,” Evra whispered. “Please don’t, Remy.” The emotion in her voice made him stop in his tracks and he stilled his body as he looked down at her.

“I know what you want t’ say, but don’t,” she said, quietly. “Victor an’ I are ... We’re connected; I can feel him all th’ time in my chest. It’s a little heartbeat that belongs to him an’ it pulses right next to mine, right here,” Evra placed her fingers on a spot right above her left breast.

Remy’s heart was like a lead weight in his chest and he fought to keep down the bile that rushed up into his throat. “What?” He sounded small, hurt and he hated himself for it.

Evra stood and took both of Remy’s hands in her own. Her flesh was cool to the touch, a contrast to his heated skin. He felt like he was boiling alive.

“Victor bought me from Olive,” she continued. “I’m leavin’ with him today, right after I’m done healin’ Marty.”

Remy’s mouth worked, trying to think of something to say but he couldn’t form the words. Fortunately, Evra took the silence to press a kiss to his mouth.

It was chaste—a simple meeting of lips—but for Remy, it was everything. It was if his blood had begun to steam inside of him and he had to stop himself from grabbing her and pulling her over to the empty cot in order to have his way with her.

Evra pulled back, her face still close to his. “You’re too good for someone like me, Doctor Remy Laurent,” she whispered, her breath ghosting his cheek.

“ _Non_ ,” he mumured, trying to pull her closer.

She stepped back, out of his reach. “It’s for th’ best,” she said as if he hadn’t spoken. “Victor promised t’ show me th' world. There’s nothin’ keepin’ me here.”

 _I_ _want to be the reason you stay. Stay for me! Stay_ with _me!_ Remy wanted to scream but he dropped his eyes, absorbing what Evra had told him. The thought of her with Victor Creed angered him more than it should have; truly, Remy had no claim on her but he didn’t think any man ever would. The fact it was Victor was maddening. What had that beast done that Remy had not?

The door opened suddenly and Victor strode into the room, a smug smile on his face. He paused before he shut it, lifting his face to the air, almost as if he could smell the emotions that had been trapped in here with them.

The man’s gaze turned to Evra before he crossed the space towards her. As soon as he was close enough, he pulled her to him for an extremely passionate and possessive kiss. She gasped and placed her hands against his chest, trying to push him away, but she couldn’t help but melt against him.

The whole time, Victor kept his eyes on Remy, letting the doctor know that Evra was not and would never be his. The large man had a strange hold on her that Remy didn’t understand.

“Ready t’ go soon, kid?” Victor asked, stroking a thumb down her cheek.

“Yeah,” Evra replied as she blushed prettily, obviously embarrassed by Victor's display. “About an’ hour or so, okay?”

”I got shit t’ take care of, but I’ll be back soon,” Victor said. With another smug smile at Remy, he left.

Rage filled Remy and he fought not to chase after the large man and burn him to a crisp with his lights. “Why you goin’ wit him, Kit?”

“It’s … it’s complicated, Remy. He—I … we …” Evra’s voice trailed off as she looked towards the door where Victor had left. She sighed as she sat. “We only got an hour, doc. I’ll explain while I’m healin’. We don’t have much time left together, so let’s make the most of it, huh?”

Remy was jarred by her words; they _didn’t_ have much time left. “Kit, I—“

“Stop. We said everythin’ there is t’ say,” Evra said. “Please don’t overcomplicate it, Remy. Let’s just … jus’ be okay, okay?”

“ _D’accord_ ,” he responded softly, his heart heavy in his chest.

Remy had lost; he had to accept that. Instead of wallowing in defeat, he would take the hour to try to commit to memory as many things about Evra as he could—how she smiled, her laugh, the way her eyes would crinkle, how she smelled…

Soon, those recollections would be all Remy would have.

 

* * *

 

**Jasmine**

 

Jasmine sat in the clearing, the sun shining brightly on her red hair. Birds chirped happily in the trees, their cheerful songs the antipathy of what she was feeling.

Evra wasn’t coming.

She had waited until well past nine and now she was wiping away the tears that continued to fall. She’d seen how Victor looked at Evra. It was hard not to notice the look of pure desire on a man who inflicted nothing but cruelty and hatred and felt nothing but  _want_.

In the hours that she had waited, Jasmine had come up with numerous plans, one that involved her demanding Evra choose between her and Creed, one that involved saving Evra from Creed and becoming her lover’s hero, one involving going back to the bordello, gathering her belongings, and leaving quietly.

She kept wavering between her ideas, indecisive and heartbroken. The fact she couldn’t choose frustrated her and led to more tears. Sniffling, Jasmine lay back on the blanket, wondering if she could just stay here and starve to death; anything would be better than going back and seeing Evra’s face.

It was going to be another hot, cloudless day. The weather hadn’t brought much rain this far north and much of the grass had become dry and crunchy, the leaves on the trees crackling to the touch.

Her sorrow was quite draining and with the sun warm upon her face, Jasmine found herself being lulled to sleep when she was startled awake by an exceptionally loud magpie. It had found a high branch in a tall tree in which to deliver its shrill sermon.

“Go away,” Jasmine shouted at the boisterous bird. “I’ll not have you squawking at me, you silly creature!”

The magpie seemed uninterested in her turmoil and instead worked itself into a disturbing screeching that put Jasmine even further on edge. She grabbed a rock and tossed it at the stupid thing; it cried in protest as it took to the sunny sky, whirling away on the wind like a pinwheel.

“Foolish bird,” Jasmine muttered to herself as she settled back down, still drowsy from the heat.

“Is it really so foolish if it was tryin’ to warn ya a predator was comin’?”

Jasmine froze.

She knew from the voice that it was Victor Creed behind her. Her whole body tensed and she had to remind herself not to run. There was absolutely no way she could outrun a feral, especially one his size. Jasmine cringed as Creed crouched behind her, one of his large hands landing heavily on her shoulder.

“You don’t like me much, do ya, Jasmine?” he asked, his tone conversational. “Don’t like me sniffin’ round your woman, takin’ liberties with her, huh?”

She didn’t answer, instead concentrating on breathing slowly and steadily, keeping her heartbeat from going wild. She didn’t want him to know how terrified she was. Jasmine had never been afraid of a feral since she’d received her training—she knew what to do and she was good at it—but Creed frightened her. Maybe it was because he had killed her family or maybe it was because of the hold he had over Evra, who was one of the strongest people Jasmine had known.

Creed leaned in close, his breath hot against the sweat forming on the back of her neck. “I did, you know,” he growled softly. “I took _a lot_ liberties with yer woman.”

Jasmine couldn’t help the gasp that wrenched from her body, the force of it leaving her trembling. Creed moved to sit beside her, his hand still a weight on her shoulder.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice dangerous.

“N-no,” she stammered, keeping her eyes on the dried grass in front of her.

Creed grabbed her other shoulder and jerked her to him. He skimmed his lips down her neck, stopping over her wildly jumping pulse. He licked the tender flesh of her throat; she started, her body shaking against him.

“M-Mr. Creed, please,” Jasmine said quietly. He pulled back abruptly and looked her straight in the eyes. She whimpered, averting her gaze immediately.

“You know, don’t you? You know what I am, what the kid is.”

Jasmine gave one brief nod. His hand shot to her neck, closing around it tightly.

“You’re one o’ The Family,” Creed growled. “A feral hunter.”

“N-no!” Jasmine gasped. “I-I’m just bait. Please!”

“Liar,” he hissed as he tightened his grip. “You know th’ submission pose an’ I bet that’s not all you know, is it, girl?”

Her hands clamped around his meaty forearm as her face turned red, her nails biting into his skin. He released his hold slightly, allowing her to get air into her lungs.

“Talk.” Creed commanded.

“Y-you killed m-my family, In Ireland!” Jasmine cried, blinking rapidly as air rushed into her. “You killed th-them and I—I came to Canada to escape and The Family found me, trained me, said I could help them rid the world of ferals. I c-came here to k-kill Evan—Evra!”

He nosed along her hairline, drinking in her scent, and she felt him smile against her forehead. “You love her, don’t you?”

Jasmine’s face fell. “Yes,” she responded, her voice barely a whisper.

She was suddenly on her back, Creed looming above her, caging her in underneath his massive body. “I remember you, Irish Rose. Sunshine an’ clover; that’s you. I never forget scent an’ I never forget a kill, y’know. I keep ‘em all up here,” He tapped his head with a long claw before he brought it down to scrape against her cheek.

Jasmine whimpered in pain as her flesh split.

“Olive didn’t get t’ make a sound before I snapped her neck but yer ma screamed real nice,” Creed’s grin widened. “I wonder if yer gonna scream th’ same way or if it’ll be different.”

Jasmine’s body betrayed her, trembling hard as terror took over. He sat up and reached behind him, pulling a knife from the small of his back. She was paralyzed, unable to move as his amber eyes finally caught hers, pinning her down.

“You know how t’ skin a moose, Jasmine?” he asked as he turned the knife over. It glinted in his hand. “Do ya?”

He brought his other hand up and slid the sharp blade across the palm. A huge gash followed his motion, blood leaking freely from the cut.

“See,” Creed continued softly. “Most people don’t know how t’ slaughter a moose properly. Takes skill an’ know-how an’ _strength_. Gotta be strong t’ slice open th’ skin of the beast, get th’ knife smooth like butter through all that fur, y’know? Its hide is tough.”

Jasmine swallowed loudly and nodded slightly, her eyes widening as the cut on his palm sealed up. He licked the blood away, a firm grip on the knife.

“But people, see, people are so easy t’ cut open. It don’t take much strength at all, really. A man can slice another man open with as little as th’ flick of somethin’ sharp,” Creed placed the flat of the blade against Jasmine’s cheek. She whimpered and squeezed her eyes shut. He stroked the knife along her skin as he spoke.

“What I’m gettin’ at, girl,” he whispered roughly, “is that I’ve made my claim. Evra’s mine, not yours. She’s my _mate_ an’ I know you know what that means.”

Jasmine sobbed once, her eyes flying open. Evra was lost to her now. Her body went limp, her heart shattered; she was helpless, hopeless. A tiny cry clawed its way out of her throat when Creed quickly pulled the blade along her cheek, leaving behind a thin, bloody line.

Tears streamed from her eyes, stinging as they sluiced through the wound. He grabbed her face, licking a long line from the corner of her lip to her temple. Creed gave her a wide, bloodstained smile. He pressed the knife into her small hand and stood, towering over her.

“You wanna kill me, girl? Wanna hunt me down?” he asked with a wicked smile. “You think you got the muscle an’ the know-how t' slaughter me, get that knife through my tough skin? Get up, then. Get up an’ fight for your woman.”

Rage took over, burning along every inch of her body, infusing her with strength. With a roar, Jasmine launched herself at Creed, the knife aiming for his heart. Her scream pierced the air, sending wildlife scattering for miles around as it echoed through the forest.

_Blood for blood._


	6. Play Fully

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor didn’t care who he had to kill or if he had to crawl through hell; he’d find her and together they would make the most beautiful of music.

Torture from you to me, yeah  
Abducted from the street

I'd rather be  
I'd rather be with  
I'd rather be with an animal

**-** _Animal_ by Pearl Jam

* * *

**Dr. Remy Laurent**

 

Evra looked up suddenly, ceasing the flexing of Marty’s newly healed elbow. She cocked her head and raised her nose to the air.

Remy noticed her concern. “What’s wrong, Kit?”

“I don’t know,” she replied softly. “Somethin ain’t right.”

He stood. “Wan’ me to go look?”

Evra looked at him and flicked her eyes down to Marty before she stood. “Smells like trouble,” she said. “They have guns, Remy; they’ll be less likely to shoot a woman.”

Remy stood straighter and raised his voice slightly. “ _Écoutez_ ,” he said. “I wan’ you t’ stay an’ take care of Marty, _oui?_ I can handle myself.”

A small smiled crossed Evra’s lips but vanished as quickly as it came. “ _D’accord_ ,” she said. “Jus’ be careful an’ go slow.”

Remy nodded and went to the door. The hallway was silent as he moved through it; usually it would be filled with echoes of music, chat, and laughter from the sitting room.

Both the dining and sitting rooms were strangely empty. The hair on the back of his neck began to stand up, goosebumps spotting his arms. Remy’s footsteps were the only sound as he walked towards Olive’s door. There was a small breeze blowing through the place; it had been hot, so windows had been left open in hopes of drafts. The curtains fluttered and Remy couldn’t help but notice the lack of birdsong. It was unnerving.

He spied no one but continued to remain alert, even when he reached her door. The knock on the Madame’s door boomed like cannon fire in the eerie silence; it made Remy wince.

No one called for him to enter, so he knocked louder. It remained strangely still

“Madame?” Remy called. He clutched the handle of the door and turned it gently, pushing the door open. “Olive, are you—“

With a strangled cry, he scrambled back, away from the gaping office door, his eyes fixed on the scene before him. Madame Olive Johnson lay facedown on her desk, her head twisted at an obviously unnatural angle. Her greying blonde hair had come loose, waves of it splaying over her body like a funeral shroud.

A flash of Coalspur came back to him— _a small pop and the man went down, another one Remy couldn’t save_. _Lumps of bloody tissue and crushed bone all around him—_ He shook off the image quickly; now was no time to be paralysed. He was a doctor—a doctor dealt with death.

Remy stepped into the office, went to Olive, and placed two fingers on the side of her neck. She was dead—the bones of her neck had pierced through her flesh, almost as if someone had tried to twist her head clean off—but going through the automatic motions of checking for breath, checking for pulse, checking for other injuries kept him calm.

He knew the routine by rote.

It was pointless. There was nothing his healing hands could do to bring her back to life. Maybe Evra …

There was a sudden sound, like a footstep, outside in the hallway. Remy went towards it. “Hallo,” he called. “Dere is a dead woman in ‘ere—“

A hand clamped over his mouth, silencing him before he could finish. He was hauled out of the bordello backwards and shoved to his hands and knees in the middle of the gravel street. The sharp rocks cut into his palms and he hissed in pain.

“Where are the monsters, sir?”

Remy rocked himself back onto his heels and raised his eyes to see who was speaking. Fifteen men, all of them heavily armed, surrounded him. He pushed away the tendrils of hair that had fallen into his face.

“I don’ know what you mean,” Remy said carefully. “I’m _le docteur_ ‘ere.”

He knew exactly who these men were looking for; he had to alert Evra somehow, let her know there was danger.

“I don’t care who you are,” said a small, dark man who reminded him of a weasel.

“I ‘ave a patient in da back room,” Remy countered, acting innocent as he scrambled for some way to explain Evra, so he blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “My wife too. Are you evacuatin’ da place? Is dere danger?”

The men took turns glancing at each other until the largest, a redhead with a long, impressive beard, stepped forward and pointed at the weasel. “Samuel,” he said in a booming, commanding voice, “take the doctor and get his patient an’ … woman.”

The weasel, Samuel, grabbed Remy and hauled him to his feet. “No trouble now, Frenchie,” he hissed as he shoved the doctor in front of him.

Remy’s heart was beating madly as he entered the unnaturally quiet bordello, Samuel almost stepping on him; he was close enough to tread on Remy’s heels. They passed the office that held the Madame’s body and the weasel _tsk_ ed sadly.

“Shame about Olive,” he said. “She was a good agent. Ugly as sin, though.”

“Agent?” Remy asked, keeping his voice level. He knew Evra would hear him no matter how soft or loud he was.

“We kill ferals,” Samuel said, almost nonchalantly. “Olive sent word that Creed was here an’ every man you see out there has a personal reason to kill the son of a bitch. Bastard raped and killed my wife. He ate Olive’s betrothed.”

Remy felt his gut clench and he fought hard not to retch. “ _Ate_?”

“Yeah,” the weasel replied. “Right in front of ‘er, too. Played with her for a bit, scarred her up real good.”

His mind turned to Evra and his heart leapt into his throat.

 _Evra_.

She had to know what a monster Creed was, what a vile and disgusting creature. She wouldn’t _align_ herself with someone like that, would she? He was breathing heavily through his nose as he and Samuel entered the nurse’s room.

“ _Husband_ ,” Evra said in perfect Acadian. “ _What is happening?”_

“Your wife?” Samuel demanded, pushing Remy further into the room, slamming the door behind them.

“ _Oui_ ,” he said. “She only speaks Acadian.”

Evra stood, her eyes wide as the weasel came towards her. He examined her closely, his gaze coming to rest on her chest more than once. He seized her wrist suddenly and she shrank back, trying to pull out of his grip.

“Tell her I ain’t gonna hurt her,” said Samuel.

Remy turned to Evra. “ _These men are feral hunters_ ,” he said. “ _They’re looking to kill Creed and the boy_.”

Shock settled on Evra’s face. “ _I didn’t believe Jasmine_ ,” she said sadly. “ _I should’ve listened_.”

“ _It’s too late now_ ,” Remy replied. “ _Let’s keep playing the part; I think they’ll let us go_.”

Evra nodded and he leaned down to scoop Marty into his arms. He sent up a quick prayer that Marty had always been a small man—he was fairly light in Remy’s arms.

Samuel led them out of the room, his hand tight around Evra’s wrist, tugging her gently when she hesitated by Olive’s office. Her shoulders slumped visibly as she allowed herself to be dragged outside.

“Got the doc’s patient,” the weasel said. “An’ his wife.” He put a hand in the small of Evra’s back and shoved her to the ground, her dress billowing out as she fell heavily to her knees.

“Hey!” Remy cried, but his hands were full of Marty and he felt the tip of a knife press between his shoulder blades.

Red Beard stepped forward and looked down at Evra. He crouched down and unsheathed a knife. “She speak English?” he asked.

“Naw,” said Samuel. “Some type of French. Doc can translate though.”

The large man looked up at Remy, as he pressed the knife firmly against Evra’s throat. “It’s been a while since any of us have had a woman,” he said, his free hand plucking at the bib her apron.

“Dis a bordello, _homme_ ,” Remy said through clenched teeth. “You took da girls out, _oui_? I’m sure you find a number of ‘em be grateful you saved ‘em.”

The men glanced at each other, amused, before breaking into laughter.

“You suggestin’ we lay down with whores, doc?” Samuel guffawed. “We don’t want whores; we like _real_ women.” He made a few suggestive gestures at Evra that had the others laughing again.

“Look here,” Red Beard said. “You seem a smart fella. Just tell us where Creed and the boy are and we’ll let you go too, eh?”

“Get your hands off of her,” Remy spat roughly.

“The ugly ones are usually hellcats between the sheets. They’re just so goddamn grateful to get it, huh?” he said, grabbing her face in his hand and squeezing.

Red Beard turned Evra’s head from side to side, studying her intently. He seemed to be looking for something and for a moment, Remy was terrified that the man had figured out that Evra was Evan, the feral boy they’d been looking for.

“Tell me where Creed is,” Red Beard said, “and I’ll let you and your patient pass unharmed.”

“My wife—“ Remy started, but the knife between his shoulder blades pressed harder.

“We’ll return her to you when we’re finished,” the large man said. “I have a few … questions for her.”

“She don’t speak English!” Remy spat, struggling as hands grabbed him from behind.

Red Beard raised his eyebrows and smiled evilly. “Oh, we’re not going to need words, are we, sweetheart?”

“You kill ferals but threaten to rape my wife? She done nuttin’ to you,” Remy spat. “You are da real _b_ _âtards_!”

Evra held herself still in the man’s grip. “ _Creed is in the forest_ ; _I scented him going that way_ ,” she said. “ _Tell him and go_.”

“ _I won’t leave you_!” Remy said desperately. “ _Evra, please_ —“

“ _Do it_ ,” she hissed. _“I want you and Marty safe. Please, Remy_.”

Remy took a breath. “Creed went into da forest, behind da bordello. Dere’s a path. Follow it an’ you’ll find ‘im.”

Red Beard smiled and stood, pulling Evra up with him. “Christian,” he said, “walk the doctor and his charge away from here, will you?”

A young boy no older that fifteen stepped forward. “Yes, Gunner.”

“Shoot them both if he tries to escape.”

“Yes, Gunner.”

The kid came towards him, his finger against the trigger of his gun. He looked so young; too young to have suffered at the hands of Victor Creed.

“Before I go,” Remy said, “let me kiss her.”

Gunner shrugged and he shoved Evra forward, his large hard wrapped tightly around her upper arm. She stood on her tiptoes so she could reach over Marty and pressed a sweet kiss to Remy’s lips.

“ _Come back to me_ ,” he said softly.

“ _I’ll find you_ ,” she said, touching his hand. “ _I promise_.”

Evra was yanked away from him and Remy was nudged ahead, the kid trotting along behind him. As he moved away from her, he thought of nothing but her kiss and her promise.

Evra would beat them all.

Then she would find him.

All would be right.

 

* * *

 

**Victor**

 

Jasmine’s ruined and broken body no longer held any thrill for Victor, which was a damn shame. She’d been a pretty little piece to play with, but the small ones always broke so easily. He’d been hoping she’d have been stronger being one of The Family and all.

That’s not to say Jasmine didn’t go down without a damn good fight; the bitch was quite skilled and managed to get a few licks in before Victor became bored. Once he was bored, he became dangerous.

He left Jasmine’s body bent and mangled and quite dead as he made his way back down the path that led to Madame O’s. The thought of fucking her while he smashed her to pieces crossed his mind more than once—he was celebrating after all—but he decided to release those intense urges on his mate.

 _Evra_.

The mere thought of her made Victor growl with want.

 _Mate_.

Victor finally had her.

Olive had been a fool for years, thinking that he didn’t remember who the fuck she was. He hadn’t been lying when he told Jasmine that he recalled the scent of every person he ever killed.

Victor hadn’t slaughtered Olive years ago—thanks to goddamn do-gooding Jimmy—but the smell of her terror and her scent of lilies had never left him. It had filled his senses that night, especially when he’d played with her afterwards, carving those delicious marks into every inch of skin hidden under her dress.

Sometimes Victor called that particular memory to mind when he was feeling particularly lustful. It never failed to get him off.

He chuckled thinking of when he’d gone into Olive office that morning, offering to buy Evra.

_“Just take her,” Olive had hissed. “Take Evra and get out of here. They’re coming to kill you both. Just keep her safe, Victor; she’s special.”_

As if he didn’t know how fucking special she was. It was why he wanted her so much, needed her so much.

What had surprised him was that Olive knew Evra was a woman and that the Madame had been so willing to give her to him, knowing what he was. Perhaps it was because she knew Victor would truly keep Evra safe no matter the cost, but he didn’t dwell on that thought too much.

It was a wonderful and unexpected sacrifice and made it extra delectable to twist her neck and leave her there, believing she was doing right by Evra.

Victor hadn’t been particularly worried about getting her to leave; they were mated after all and it would be agonizing for her to be apart from him, but when he had walked into the nurse’s office and smelled what had been going on between Evra and the doctor, he changed his mind.

It was obvious that the doctor was cow-eyed for Evra, but Victor had considered Remy too much of a coward to make his feelings known. He really should have nipped that relationship in the bud as soon as he noticed the smitten Acadian sniffing around his mate.

Victor hated to be wrong; if he had to, he would kill the good-looking doctor.

It would be a genuine goddamn shame to carve up someone so fucking gorgeous, but Victor wasn’t going to let anything—or anyone—come between him and his mate. He’d be sure to take his time with Remy, though; do the things he hadn’t done to Jasmine, really enjoy himself. There was almost nothing better than combining fucking and killing.

The scent of blood and fear hit his nose about five hundred feet from the end of the path. Victor came to a halt and cocked his head to listen.

Screams—Evra’s feral roars and growls of rage, loud and enraged and _impassioned_. It was music to his ears and he wanted to be with her, adding his own snarls to the chaotic cacophony.

Victor lifted his nose to the air to locate Evra’s scent. When it came to him—raspberries and freshly turned soil—his groin tightened.

He didn’t care who he had to kill or if he had to crawl through hell; he’d find her and together they would make the most beautiful of music.

 

* * *

 

**Evra**

Gunner had taken over the sitting room in the bordello, setting up a command post. He’d divided the men up and sent them out into the forest, searching for Victor and the boy.

 _Victor_.

Evra found herself aching for him, desiring to be beside him. The fact she could still feel the beat that was purely his gave her respite. Her sheer need for the large blonde feral was growing exponentially; it practically consumed the complicated emotions she had for Remy and Jasmine.

What Evra felt for Victor was wild, primal, hot-blooded. Remy made her experience something else—something tender, comfortable, warm. Jasmine had touched different things within Evra; the young girl had trusted her beyond limits, almost worshipped Evra to a point. Jasmine’s ardent fervency made her feel unworthy of the beautiful redhead.

Evra was a fighter, a brawler. Jasmine’s optimism and innocence made Evra want to protect that part of her, keep it safe from the horrible things that were out there. Her affection for Jasmine was real, but it was naive and she needed things that Evra couldn’t give her. It would have ended eventually; perhaps it was for the best that Jasmine had left without a good bye.

She wanted more of what Victor made her feel, the deep, primeval, scorching passion that burned within her when she thought of him. It was something she hadn’t known she needed, but now that she’d found it, she would fight tooth and nail in order never to lose it.

“What are you thinking about, woman?” Gunner’s voice brought her attention back to him and he gave her a self-satisfied smile.

“ _About how I want to kill you_ ,” Evra said in Acadian. “ _Would you like to die fast or slow_?”

The room was empty now, save for the two of them. Men had been tramping in and out for a full hour—having found no sign of Creed or the boy—only to get sent right back out to search a different area. Gunner was committed to leaving no stone unturned in the search for the ferals.

Gunner chuckled and leaned forward, his eyes wandering over Evra, as if appraising her. “Now that we’re alone,” he said, “why don’t you cut the shit and tell me where Creed is, Evan. Or should I call you Evra?”

She kept her face emotionless and body still, trying not to give away her surprise. Gunner now had the advantage over her and she didn’t like it.

“You’re not as stupid as I thought,” Evra said gruffly.

He leaned back in the chair, a few blunt fingers stroking his bearded chin. “Want to know how I knew?”

“No.”

Gunner laughed loudly, his head thrown back as the sound worked from deep inside of his belly. It would have been an opportune time to launch herself at him and tear his head clean off but she restrained herself.

“Want to know why I haven’t killed you yet?” Gunner asked, his eyes watching her face.

“Not really,” Evra replied, “Want to know why I haven’t killed _you_ yet?”

He laughed again, uproariously this time, slapping his knee like he had just heard the funniest joke in the world. When Gunner was done, he stood and took a few steps away from his chair, distancing himself from her.

“Female ferals are rare,” Gunner said, fingers caressing the knife belted to his side.

“What you are—a female feral alpha—is rarer still. In the entire time I’ve been hunting ferals, I’ve only met two. You’re the second.”

“So?”

He went silent for a few minutes as he studied her. Evra recognised it as a ploy to make her uncomfortable. Gunner was trying to unnerve her, cause her to reveal something by filling the quiet with mindless chatter or by exposing something via body language.

Daniel used to do the very same thing when he was trying to exorcise her of the demons he claimed had possessed her. If she moved or spoke, he would beat her. He would beat her nonetheless, but it taught her to remain quiet and still, to prolong the calm before the storm.

Evra didn’t drop her gaze; she wasn’t afraid of him and she wanted him to be aware of it.

“I saw you fight down south, you know,” Gunner said. “When you were the Wolf-Bitch of the West. You took down five men in an hour, men who were at least three times your size. I know what you were immediately; you were strong, inimitable, and an _alpha female_ ,”

He stopped and looked around the room, taking in the décor. Madame Olive had decorated the place for comfort; it was filled with ornate furniture and pillows stuffed with down, and paintings that only suggested hints of the act of passion.

Gunner’s lip curled in disgust. “Goddamn, you were amazing. Never seen a man fight like that, much less a woman. Took me a few months to get someone else from The Family to come and look at you, confirm my findings, but you’d vanished by the time he arrived. Two years you were missing, Evra; _two years_.”

Evra remained silent, content to let the man talk. She concentrated on the subtle pulsating within her; it seemed to be getting stronger, as if Victor were coming closer.

“Think of how many male ferals I could’ve gotten using you as bait,” Gunner said.

His proclamation startled her slightly and she tasted bile at the back of her throat. Was he saying what she thought he was?

Gunner was amused at her reaction, pleased that he’d finally made her slip up. “I’ll be a fucking hero to The Family when I bring you back,” he said, his eyes wide with delight. He glanced around the room again. “You’re being wasted here. Once I get you back home and break you, you’ll be worth your weight in goddamn gold.”

“I ain’t so easy t’ break,” Evra growled. “You’d be wise t’ remember my husband. He tried an’ it only got him dead.”

Gunner chuckled. “Your husband was a drunken idiot,” he responded. “I offered to buy you from him; he told me to go to hell, said you were too good of a fuck to give up.”

She closed her eyes in revulsion. Even when he’d been sober, Daniel had always been quick to take advantage of her, use her to satisfy his own sick needs. She’d been so young and frightened, she hadn’t known any better.

“I ain’t gonna be your feral whore,” Evra spat as she opened her eyes and locked gazes with Gunner.

“You’ll be whatever I want you to be once you’re compliant,” the tall man with the long red beard said pompously. Then he made a mistake: he stepped close to Evra—too close—in order to lean down so he could look her in the face. “In fact, when you’re not too busy snaring feral males for us to kill, maybe I’ll take you to my bed, see how good of a fuck you _really_ are.”

His scent was alive with lust and excitement and it turned her stomach, but she decided to play it to her advantage. Evra allowed Gunner to place a strong, callous hand on her shoulder and she smiled seductively at him.

“Why wait?” she asked reaching back to untie her apron. “The others’ll be back any minute.”

Evra stood, letting the pristine white fabric waft to the floor, revealing the buttons of her dress, which were straining under the press of her bosoms. She moved into his body and tilted her head back, mouth open to receive his kiss.

Gunnar was quick, his hands grasping her shoulders as his lips met hers, his tongue rough and eager as it worked its way in. Evra moaned, her hands travelling up his back to cup his head and pull his closer. His tongue wormed in deeper and deeper still, greedy for the taste of her.

She suddenly clamped his head tightly in her hands and bit down, her teeth slicing through the meat of his tongue. Her mouth muffled his scream and he tried to pull back, causing it to tear further, blood gushing from the wound.

Gunner pushed against Evra’s shoulders, trying to separate them, but she was too strong; she began to feel his skull compressing under her grip but she refused to let go.

As soon as her teeth met, Evra yanked her head back, Gunner’s tongue secure between her lips. She considered eating it, something she felt Victor would have encouraged, but instead, she spat in on the floor at his feet.

It was then she released him and he stumbled back a few steps before falling heavily to the floor, blood streaming from his mouth. His eyes were wide as she crouched next to him, his mouth open, trying to form words as the stump of his tongue worked uselessly.

“I’m no one’s whore,” Evra said firmly, lifting her leg to drive her foot into his stomach. As Gunner gasped and wheezed, sputtering blood, she leaned forward and spat in his face. “I’ll kill every last one of you before I’d ever let any of you lay one finger on me.”

Evra grabbed the knife Gunner had caressed earlier and dragged it across his throat, leaving behind a large, bloody gash. His hands grabbed at his neck, trying to stop the pump of red liquid. Tears leaked from his eyes but she felt no compassion for the pathetic creature flopping around on the floor like a landed fish.

Evra snatched up her apron, and she tossed it over Gunner, the fabric settling on his slit throat. She left him, not bothering to watch as the pristine white cloth greedily soaked up the red, a gore-stained portrait of the work of a female alpha feral.

The Family would keep it as a reminder for years.

 

* * *

 

**Victor**

 

Once caught Victor caught Evra’s scent, he broke into a run, not wanting to be parted from her any longer, especially since she was making those luscious sounds; her rage make the air mouth-wateringly delicious the closer he got.

He passed the thoroughly destroyed body of a man the second he stepped from the trail, another as he skidded around the bordello and onto the street. The sight that greeted him was glorious.

Evra, snarling and bloodied and covered in gore, was standing in the middle of the gravel road, surrounded by several more bodies. The skirt of her dress had been torn; it hung in tatters to her knees, exposing her strong calves and her thick, muscular thighs. Buttons had popped from the bodice of her outfit, the tops of her magnificent breasts on display. She held a knife her hand.

Sanguine fluid dripped from Evra’s mouth, which was twisted in the most beautiful expression Victor had ever seen: her teeth were bared in challenge, her lips pulled back, her eyes wide as she scanned for even more prey.

Lust washed over him, his beast howling to the surface as it took in the wild and animated state of its mate. Its need for her was desperate, acute. His veins were pure fire as he dropped into a crouch and growled low in order to get her attention.

Evra lifted her nose to the air, scenting him. When she spotted him, she too went into a crouch, her face conveying her interest. His rumble was subdued as he loped slowly towards her on all fours. She waited, her head tilting slightly as he came closer; she was no longer growling but her teeth remained bared, ready to strike if necessary, the knife clenched in her hand.

Victor started to purr as he came nearer to Evra; this intrigued her and she closed the space between them to press her cheek to his. He kept his surprise in check as she began purring too, a high, sweet sound that rippled along his spine and made his back arch.

“Victor.” Evra whispered, dropping the knife.

She nipped the pointed nip of his ear before she turned away and dropped on to her elbows and knees, raising her hips high in the air. His mate was presenting to him and the scent of her readiness caused his breath to hitch in his chest.

Evra was ready to be mounted, ready to be bred.

Victor couldn’t remove his trousers fast enough before caging her in under his body to give a rough lick to the back of her neck. She mewled impatiently, lifting her ass to bump against his pubic bone.

He could sense she was already wet, as if she’d already orgasmed. She was clean between her legs; no other man other than Victor had been there recently. Evra was still purely _his_.

 _Mate_. The beast was roaring in anticipation, stalking back and forth, anxious to reap its reward.

Victor grabbed his hard cock and pushed into her with a low, rough growl, sinking his teeth into the back of Evra’s neck as he drove deep. The rhythm of his thrusts was savage, abrading her knees and elbows across the sharp and unforgiving gravel.

The sweet and spicy tang of her blood mixed with her sheer feral desire had Victor groaning, wanting more of her, wanting to taste her.

He released her neck and lapped at the luscious combination of her sweat and cruor that beaded her skin. Evra’s muscles tightened gently, squeezing his cock just enough make him snarl against her flesh, making her shiver in delight.

Victor grabbed on of her shoulders and a hip to keep her still as he ploughed into her, her pussy like velvet around his shaft. Evra clawed at the soft sand mixed with the gravel, finding purchase so she could drive her hips back, pushing him deeper still.

“Fuck,” he gasped as his claws punctured her flesh. She let out a choked cry as his nails scraped her hipbone, then she lapsed into loud, sharp groans, each punctuated by the slap of their bodies.

Victor dragged his tongue up her spine before he grabbed her other shoulder, yanking her back against him. Evra’s scream of elation made his balls tighten; he wasn’t going to last much longer, not with her sounds and smells and tight pussy driving him towards the edge.

Even with all of that, with all she was giving him, Victor wanted more. He sunk his teeth into the back of her neck again and that was all it took to make her go wild.

Evra began bucking underneath him, the walls of her pussy clamping tightly around his cock. He growled against her skin and she responded with one of her own, which quickly became a resounding groan as she came, her juices searing his cock.

Victor hammered into her once, twice, three times before his own lusty roar filled the air around them, echoing down the street, birds taking wing from nearby trees. He dragged his claws down her back as he exploded inside of her, coating her velvet insides with his come as she howled, her blood making red stripes against the peach of her skin.

Another roar wrenched from Victor’s throat, but this wasn’t a sound of release—this was a sound of conquest, a sound to let every creature in the animal kingdom know that he had claimed what was rightfully his and he would kill anything that thought otherwise.

Evra had collapsed onto her belly and Victor fell overtop of her, catching himself on his elbows. He licked the back of her neck again and felt her tremble beneath him.

“ _Mine_ ,” Victor snarled against Evra’s rust coloured hair. “You are _mine_.”

 

* * *

 

**Dr. Remy Laurent**

 

A branch cracked loudly under Remy’s foot and he stopped immediately. After a moment of silence, he cast a quick look over his shoulder to see if he was being followed.

The boy, Christian, had taken turns with Remy to carry the unconscious Marty, and when he had arrived at Remy’s cabin, he was rightfully exhausted. When Remy offered him a small couch on which to rest, Christian had swiftly fallen asleep.

The sedative the doctor had slipped into his tea had helped. Remy didn’t feel right unknowingly drugging the boy, but it was imperative the boy didn’t wake up while he was gone.

In his sleep-depraved state, Remy had left his notebook in plain view, the one filled with information about Evra and her special abilities. It contained carefully written descriptions and sketched graphs as well as artfully drawn portraits of her face and body, indicating injuries sustained and how long they’d taken to heal.

It was quite possible that Gunner, the red bearded man, had already discovered it and was planning to use the knowledge against her, to hurt and torture her. It didn’t help that the notebook also contained Remy’s own musings about Evra, his thoughts and opinions about her powers. Those read like the musings of a love-sick boy.

That idea of it being found made Remy’s stomach sour; how could he explain to Evra that he didn’t mean any harm by it? As a doctor, he was fascinated by how her ability worked. He had never felt right asking her to let him record and detail everything about her, so he had done it in secret, making notes and charting her face as she slept off her weariness.

Remy couldn’t stand the idea of Evra thinking he viewed her as a freak, someone or something to be studied and experimented upon. She’d suffered enough mutilation at the hands of her dead husband. He didn’t want to be branded the same as Daniel, a man who used her and abused for his own means.

Notes about Remy’s own capabilities were interspersed throughout the pages; those were far and few in-between. It was obvious who the main focus of the work was. The book was meant to cater to his own curiosity; it wasn’t meant for anyone else’s eyes.

Yes, Remy had shared information about Evra with Doctor Nathaniel Essex—the man he’d met in Coalspur whose interest was evolution—but he’d never shared Evra’s identity with the other doctor, affording her some form of privacy.

He’d also never made the existence of the notebook known. It was important to Remy that some secrets remained secret.

Madame O’s came into view and he breathed a sigh of relief; it was still standing, so that meant Evra was still there, safe, possibly on her way to see Remy.

Suddenly, he lost his footing, going down hard to the forest floor. His hands skidded through something wet and fragrant but he managed to stop himself before he planted face first in the dirt.

Remy sat up on his knees slowly, about to wipe his palms on his pants when he took notice of the colour: it was viscous and black, almost like spilled blood that had begun to age … he whipped his head to look over his shoulder and quickly regretted it.

At first, Remy had thought he’d stumbled over a heap of leaves covering a log, but upon closer inspection, the heap was what was left of a decapitated and limbless man. His chest had been caved in, the ribs pointing upward obscenely. Someone with a lot of strength had driven their hand through the man’s sternum and yanked out his heart, dragging the broken ribs skyward.

“ _Merde_.”

His hands were slicked with blood and brain matter. He closed his eyes tightly, breathing in and out slowly, making an effort not to lose the contents of his stomach. He was a doctor, for Christ sake! This kind of death was exactly what he’d dealt with in Coalspur; he should’ve been used to it, but the bodies still haunted him, still came to him in his sleep screaming about monsters.

Remy shook his head and stood, casting his eyes about for the man’s head. He found what little was left of it—it had been basically crushed into paste, the skull scattered about in what seemed to be millions of fragments.

He decided not to stick around to find the arms and legs, so he took a deep breath and continued to walk, trying to push the image of the Lump Man from his mind. His breathing became shallower and shallower because the further he went, the more bodies he discovered. Some were in worse shape than others; some men were positively mashed into the ground while others had their throats slit or necks broken.

Surely Evra hadn’t done _all_ of this, had she? Remy knew she was capable of violence—he’d seen her brawl and had fixed up her bruised and broken opponents afterwards—but this level of destruction and hatred was unlike her.

It was when he heard the snarl—the deep, chesty baritone—that he put two and two together.

 _Victor Creed_.

That led to more questions: would Evra stand by and watch Victor commit these heinous acts? Had she participated because she had been forced or because she had wanted to?

Remy’s mind was reeling when he heard the noises. He was close to the street, half-hidden by the brush and trees so he went completely still; predators were less likely to give chase if he remained motionless and quiet.

Evra and Victor were in the middle of the road, their bodies entangled, their cries loud and unashamed. The corpses of three dead men lay around them but neither seemed to care as they writhed and ground themselves together, panting and snarling.

Remy knew he should look away, that he should turn around and head home, damn the book, damn everything ... but he couldn’t. His eyes were glued to the odd couple, the strange dance of man and woman.

Victor was on top of Evra, his massive body practically crushing her into the gravel with each snap of his hips, but the sounds of her pleasure told Remy she was in no danger.

He’d had sex before, made love before, and even fucked before, but what he was witnessing was different somehow; it felt _primal_ and _raw_. This was nothing that Remy had never seen, never been a part of.

He couldn’t help the feelings of lust and jealousy that rose within him, that desperate need to fuck, the desperate want to be the one fucking Evra. It tightened his groin violently enough to make him gasp. His heart was drumming hard in his chest and it became difficult for him to breathe. It was as if Evra and Victor were taking all of the air in the world with their gasps and groans, the heaving of their chests as they worked towards their finish.

A powerful roar came from Victor as his hips stuttered and stopped; it was so loud, Remy’s ears rang in the silence that followed. Finished, he rolled off to the side before pulling Evra flush against his naked body. The large man nuzzled Evra’s face and hair, nipping at her earlobes and chin playfully, making her laugh at bat at him.

The sight of a naked Evra straddling Victor’s waist consumed Remy with jealousy. She stroked his muttonchops and long, blonde hair thoughtfully, tugging the strands gently. Her soft, rounded flesh was smeared with streaks of dirt and blood and he couldn’t help the noise he choked out as when Victor lifted his head slightly to lick a streak of red from one of Evra’s breasts.

Victor’s head snapped to the side with a growl; he’d heard the sound and lifted his head to the air, scenting. Remy made himself as small and still as possible but he was sure he was going to be discovered only for the sheer hammering of his heart.

He clenched his eyes shut and prayed he was upwind.

After was seemed like an eternity, Remy cracked his eyes open to find Evra staring right at him. Her light green gaze was fixed directly on his face but Victor was still sniffing, not having yet spotted him.

His whole body tensed so tightly, he worried for a split second that he might snap in half, but that was a fleeting fear—he had bigger things to deal with. His lungs were burning from holding his breath but he wouldn’t exhale, not until he was sure that he was going to live or die.

Victor’s head began tilting in Remy’s direction but Evra quickly lowered her face to his, capturing his mouth in a libidinous kiss. The large man made a pleased sound and started purring, placing a large hand to the back of her head to keep her there.

Remy let out his breath slowly; he wasn’t about to waste the opportunity rewarded him despite the pain it caused him. As quickly and as stealthily as he could, he moved towards Madame O’s on high alert.

He heard no further racket from where Evra and Victor lay, so he figured she was keeping him properly distracted, damn her. No, not her; this wasn’t Evra’s fault. Damn him, damn Remy for not telling her how he felt earlier and damn Victor Creed for taking her away. Damn them both.

He passed by more bodies on the way, but they became easier to ignore. There were eleven in total by the time her reached the outside door to the nurse’s room. That meant four were unaccounted for. It was possible they were inside, hiding and scared, but this would be the place Evra would protect; this was her home.

Carefully, Remy opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him as quietly as possible. It was still eerily quiet and made him shudder.

Remy suppressed all feelings of fear as he scanned the counter; all he needed was the notebook and he could get the hell out of this place and never come back. He knew he’s left it sitting there last night, but he didn’t spot it. He cursed himself for his foolishness; he’d put it away after all.

He strode towards the drawers and yanked the middle one open but no notebook slid down to greet him. Heart in his throat, Remy opened all the other drawers, pushing asides papers and supplies, but there was nothing.  
_Non_.

Desperate, he dropped to the floor, crawling around to check every corner and under the mattresses of the cot. He checked the closet where he kept his spare clothes and in the cupboard where the medicine was kept.

No notebook.

_Non. Non. Non. Non!_

Frantic, Remy called his lights to his right hand. It lit up immediately, charged by his frenzied state and he began sending them to darkened areas of the office, hoping by some miracle the extra light would find the notebook where his eyes had failed.

What Remy failed to consider was that when he was anxious or furious, his power became unstable. He was unable to control the temperature within the light he released and what he had already let go begun to grow hotter and hotter. The clothes in the small closet were the first to go up, but Remy didn’t notice; a scream echoed down the hallway, pulling his attention away.

 _Evra_.

Extinguishing the light in his hand, he ran towards the sound of the scream, desperate to find Evra. Instead, he found Sophie and few of the working girls gathered outside Madame’s office, the door wide open revealing the gruesome sight within.

“Doctor Laurent,” cried Sophie, throwing herself into his arms.

“Sophie,” Remy exclaimed, holding her tight as she burst into tears. “What ‘appened? Where did you go?”

One of the girls, Norma, revealed that a handful of men had come into the bordello, warning that a fire was bearing down on the town and that everyone should leave. They had practically manhandled the women out of the door and told them to run as fast and as far as they could.

“When we didn’t see no smoke, we turned ‘round an’ came back,” Norma said. “Now Madame’s dead. Did you an’ Evan go too, doc?”

Remy shook his head. “We ‘ad no idea you was gone,” he replied. “Came out an’ found Olive dead. Men must ‘ave killed her, God knows why.” He knew the real reason of course, but he didn’t want to frighten the girls any further. “Any of you ‘urt? Follow me to da infirmary.”

He released Sophie, who tried to clutch at him again and managed to grab handful of his shirt when he came to a halt.

“Remy?” Her voice was a high-pitched squeak.

He drew in a breath to yell, but nothing came out.

“What wrong, doc?” Norma asked.

Finally, after an eon, he was able to form words. “ _Feu! Fue!_ ”

The women looked at him, unsure what he was screaming until he gathered his thoughts and translated them into English.

“FIRE! FIRE!” Remy’s words boomed through the space. “Get out, _filles_! NOW!”

The women, startled by his outburst ran towards the door, pulling on each other, Sophie’s wails somehow growing louder. Remy sprinted back to the nurse’s room, only to find it engulfed in flames, black smoke billowing out of the open door.

“ _Merde_!” he screamed as he watched the fire move towards the timber of the ceiling.

The heat and smoke were too intense, so he fled back down the hallway and out the front, only to be confronted by more of the women who made their living at Madame O’s.

Remy was surrounded by them the second he was clear of the flames, all of them demanding to know what was happening. He ignored them all, pushing through the women, looking around desperately for any sign of Evra.

It was when Sophie flung herself back into his arms that Remy accepted the fact that Evra was gone, well and truly gone. She had left without keeping her promise. Remy went numb.

Others from town gathered in front of Madame O’s to watch it burn.

The crowd didn’t make a sound.

It was only when sparks lit up the brush did people begin to move and scream, some panicking, some running to get buckets of water. Remy knew it was pointless; the parched forest and dry, hot summer heat provided the perfect conditions. It would only spread further and further, claiming whatever it wanted, devouring whatever it could find.

Just like Victor Creed.

Remy didn’t care anymore. He would stand here and watch until the whole town was went up because despite the fire cracking around him, Remy’s heart was ice.

 _Let it all burn. Let the whole world burn._ _Let it all go to hell._

He was done. He was done with all of it.

 _Let me burn too_.


	7. Play Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor would go get her himself—and bring all hell with him.

 

 

There's no need to fear me  
Darling, I love you as you are when you're alone  
I'll never try to change you  
As if I could, and if I were to, what's the part that I'd miss most?  
When you're smiling and astride me  
I can hardly believe I've found you and I'm terrified by that

-  _When You're Smiling and Astride Me_ by Father John Misty

 

* * *

 

 

**Victor**

 

She was gone.

_Gone._

Victor snarled, his claws gouging the tree closest to him. It creaked ominously and he leapt away with a growl, keeping his nose to the air, hoping to catch her scent.

He’d woken up and she was gone, her bedroll cold and empty.

Evra was still wary about bedding down with him, claiming her own space when she’d had her fill of him. Sometimes Victor would follow, but ferocious snarls and swipes from Evra always sent him skittering back to his side of the fire. Normally, he wouldn’t take rejection from a frail—not even a feral female—but Evra was different. When her alpha strength reared its head, it would cause the hair on the back of Victor’s neck to stand up.

His beast was being cautious, letting him know that Evra had serious power, possibly equal to his own. Victor knew she was fierce and independent but he hadn’t expected her to just fucking get up and _leave_. Not so soon after they’d been mated.

 _Goddammit_.

He was unable to catch her scent due to her ability to shield herself and that enraged him even further, his roar booming through the forest as he came to yet another dead end. Snarling, he turned around and headed back towards camp.

As Victor sat, he recalled the conversation they’d had the night before, Evra demanded to know why the smell of Olive and Jasmine’s death clung to him. He’d been flippant with her, asking why she cared all of a sudden when the scents had been on him for days.

Evra became angry, and when he told her that Jasmine and Olive had been members of The Family, she accused him of being a liar. He demanded that she scent him; the fact he was being honest sent Evra into another rage.

Victor had turned her anger into lust and they spent most of the night wrapped around each other, their cries filling the air around them.

He hadn’t been completely honest with Evra; yes, Jasmine and Olive had been members of The Family, but he wasn’t going to tell her that both women had gone to their deaths thinking they were protecting Evra. They had loved and cared for her, wanting only what was best for the female alpha feral.

The women were complications that would have possibly kept Evra from him and there was no way he could’ve allowed that to happen. So, what else could have possibly—

 _Jesus fuck. The doctor_.

Doctor Remy fucking Laurent.

Victor almost laughed at loud at his own goddamn stupidity. Of course Evra’d want to say goodbye to the handsome Acadian, the last remaining tie to her home. Fuck, he’d been so dumb.

Remy Laurent was too weak to hold on to a woman like Evra and the doctor knew it. That’s why it had taken him so damn long to hint at his feelings for the kid; so long that someone else—Victor—had already claimed her. The little beat in his chest that was his mate ‘s heart was still thudding hard and strong. Their bond was still solid.

Victor did laugh then—Evra was coming back. She had to.

But if worse came to worse, she had two days and then Victor would go get her himself—and bring all hell with him.

 

* * *

 

**Dr. Remy Laurent**

Rain had finally come, extinguishing the fire that had raged through Fort McMurray. Most of the town and the surrounding forest had burned, leaving many families without a place to live.

A makeshift shantytown appeared, people erecting canvas tents or lean-tos, anything that could provide a modicum of shelter. It was still summer, but the rain had brought a dampness that seemed to be sticking around.

The train had been packed the past week, loaded down with more and more folks eager to help, wanting to stamp their name on the rebirth of a dead place. That meant more and more people Dr. Remy had to treat, whether they broke their thumb with a hammer or came down with a cold thanks to the soggy conditions.

The only bright thing in Remy’s life at the moment was Marty. The badly beaten man—mostly healed by Evra’s powers—had woken, looking and feeling so much better. So much so in fact, he was already pitching in and helping Remy, cooking food or keeping the cabin clean.

Christian, the boy from The Family, had been trapped during the fire, unable to find or connect with the group and Remy wasn’t about to tell the kid that they were all probably already dead, if not by Victor’s hand, then by Evra’s.

It began to seem to Remy that the boy had made the decision to stick around, also helping out where and when he could. It certainly helped that Christian only had eyes for Marty, much to Sophie’s chagrin.

Some of Madame’s girls had headed north to Fort Chipewyan after the fire was out; others had gone towards Calgary. A few were still hanging around Remy’s cabin, camping in tents provided by the trading post.

Remy had taken in a majority of Madame’s girls when it was clear the fire was spreading north; he felt they’d all be safe in his south side cabin, a half-hour’s walk away from the town. He’d slept outside the first few nights, amid the smoke and distant crackling of flames, so the girls could cram themselves into his small place.

The girls had been extremely grateful; some tried to thank Remy the only way they knew how until he made it clear that he wasn’t interested in repayment, only in their safety.

That was then the girls started doing his laundry, sewing his clothes, doing whatever else they could to show their appreciation. One of the girls even gave Remy a long overdue haircut.

He was secretly grateful they’d found other ways to thank him. The allure of sexual pleasure had almost been too much for him to refuse but he wouldn’t allow himself to give in to temptation.

Though the flames may have been put out, he feared the anger and desire that still burned deep and hot within him. They were intense and painful, causing his stomach to cramp or his lungs to suddenly empty of air.

Remy was afraid that he’d hurt someone, take the emotions out on a woman who didn’t deserve it. Sophie had already suffered at his hands; he’d delivered a hard slap to her China doll face because she wouldn’t stop snivelling and crying. The poor girl had every right to feel the way she did—she’d lost the only home she’d ever known—but her non-stop sniffling and weak nature had enraged Remy until his hand met her cheek.

He’d immediately tended to her, fetching a cold cloth and kissing her flushed face until she fell asleep in his lap, but the emotion behind the slap had scared him.

_Remy had slapped Sophie because she wasn’t Evra and the fact Sophie was here instead of Evra infuriated him._

His attempts to soothe Sophie were superficial at best. He’d intended to do so much more to her; make her feel his wrath because she wasn’t who he wanted her to be.

He felt like a monster.

Since that moment, Remy spent a lot of time behind the woodshed, either chopping enough wood to fuel a small city or jerking off while thinking of Evra. Both were excellent ways to rid himself of that poisonous anger before he faced the world, like taking a shot of morphine to make the edges of the world less sharp.

The evening found him out back again, decimating logs into tolerable pieces when he felt something shift behind him. He stood straight and wiped the sweat from his eyes. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary and he was about to turn back to his self-inflicted chore when he felt it once more.

It flicked around the corner of his eye, like a shadow sent dancing by the flames of a fire. Remy turned back again, and again, there was nothing there. Irritated and curious, he drove the axe into the chopping block and took a few steps towards the edge of the forest.

“ _Bonjour_ ,” Remy called softly into the woods. “ _C’est un ours_?”

He was half-joking but a small part of him wished that is _was_ an angry bear that would rear up and kill him, taking away the nightmares of the torn and brutalised corpses in Coalspur and those of Victor and Evra fucking in the middle of the street, their naked and sweaty bodies bracketed by dead men.

He sighed and ran a hand over his face, his fingers rasping over the stubble that covered his chin and cheeks. It was time for a shave, though Sophie told him that she and a few of the other women around the cabin were enjoying the look of the soft auburn bristles.

Chuckling to himself, Remy turned and was about to head back to the shed when the crack of a branch made him jump and whip around.

 _Evra_.

He blinked a few times to clear his vision; surely he was hallucinating. Evra had gone nearly a week ago without so much as a goodbye, instead leaving behind a trail of bloodied and battered dead men.

“Remy.”

Startled, he took a step back and really focused on what was standing in front of him.

_Evra._

She was about twenty feet away, dressed in her usual outfit of trousers and a shirt paired with a tattered brown vest. She said his name again and he took another step back.

“You come to kill me now, Kit?” Remy sneered.

Evra’s face, which had been soft, hardened immediately and he enjoyed a moment of joy at having upset her. “I jus’ came t’ say goodbye, Remy.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Bit too for dat late, _non_?”

She let out a breath through her nose and looked away, towards the town, towards the destruction, towards where Remy had lost all hope and caring. “I meant to,” she said softly. “I meant to, but—“

Remy curled his hands into fists. “You promise t’ find me,” he replied harshly as he stepped closer. “You don’ come; I get _inquiet_. I come lookin’ for you an’ what do I see? You fuckin’ Creed da middle of da street like a _foutu_ animal. I guess havin’ ‘is cock inside you was more important den makin’ sure Marty an’ I were okay, huh?”

He expected more anger, a slap, anything, but he was surprised when she started to laugh.

“ _That’s_ what you’re upset about?” Evra said disbelievingly. “You’re mad because I left without a fond farewell? You an’ Marty was _safe_ , Remy; I could smell it, so I went before I was killed.

“But you’re mad that I didn’t come an’ fall at your feet, renouncin’ any connection I have to Victor? You’re angry ‘cause I didn’t agree to become your pretty, perfect wife during the day an’ your dirty little whore at night? _That’s_ what you wanted?”

Remy stiffened. She was twisting it; she was twisting what he wanted. Of course he had wanted her to reconsider whatever sick, twisted thing she had with the large blonde man, of course he’d wanted her to come to him, love and desire him as much as he did her, but not like _that_. Why was she making it sound so warped, so perverse?

“Pah,” Remy spat, his gut boiling hot with rage. “ It don’ matter no more. You a killer now, runnin’ wit dat animal. You align yourself wit’ a mad man, Kit, an’ I ain’t got time for you no more.” He turned on his heel and managed to make it two steps before she spoke.

“Bullshit,” Evra said harshly. “You knew about Daniel, an’ you still wanted me. You don’t care that I slaughtered a few more men; they were bad people, gonna rape me, use me for feral bait, so damn right I killed ‘em. Given half th’ chance, I’d fuckin’ kill ‘em again.

“Nah, you ain’t mad that I’m a killer. You’re mad ‘cause I left with Victor an’ didn’t kiss you goodbye.”

The slap was hard, but it barely moved her; Remy’s hand stung like a son of a bitch and he wondered for a split second if he’s broken it. It hadn’t felt good, not like when he’s slapped Sophie. In fact, it soured his stomach, knotted his gut, but he still couldn’t stop the desire he felt for her, the hot rush of need that clenched his groin.

“I smell your lust for me, Remy,” Evra said, her eyes glittering. “You still want me, so come here an’ kiss me.”

He flexed his hand, still hurting from the contact. “You t’ink you can jus’ come back here an’ demand t’ings of me?”

“Yes.”

Evra looked so fierce, so goddamn confident, so fucking _irresistible_ that Remy couldn’t help himself. Muttering a curse in French, he grabbed her and pulled her against him. Their mouths clashed together angrily, tongues hot and greedy as they met.

Remy couldn’t lie anymore. As soon as their lips parted, he whispered, “I do wan’ you, Evra. _Mon dieu_ , I wan’ you so badly.”

Her fingers deftly undid his trousers and he hissed when her nails scraped along his hipbone. He was about to snidely ask her about Victor, but when her hand closed around his hard cock, the thought vanished completely.

“This is how you wanted me to say goodbye, isn’t it?” Evra demanded, looking into his eyes. “Because this is th’ _only_ thing men want from me.”

“ _Non_ ,” Remy whispered. “You have it wrong; you have it all wrong!”

“Then what’s it like, Doctor Laurent?”

Evra didn’t give him a chance to respond; she dropped to her knees and took him into her mouth, her tongue smooth and firm as it worked down the underside of his shaft.

“Fuck!” Remy gasped.

Her mouth was amazing, hot and wet, and when she took him as deep as she could, he couldn’t help the long, lewd moan that slipped from his lips. Remy softly placed a hand on her head, gently grasping her rust coloured hair in his fingers.

Her green eyes were intense as she looked up at him, and combined with the suction of her mouth and her slippery, devilish tongue, Remy began to feel his legs shake. It had been so long since he’d had this kind of pleasure. Sure, he could make himself come with a few firm tugs and a dirty thought, but it was different with someone else; it was different with _Evra_.

“Kit,” he panted. “I’m goin’ t’—“

Remy couldn’t get the words out before he came, his warm seed filling her mouth, his cry echoing through the forest. It felt like he were coming forever and her fingernails dig into the flesh of his ass as he continued to ejaculate. His trembling legs seemed unable to hold him upright, and after Evra coaxed the last of his come from his cock and removed her mouth, they gave out, bringing Remy to his knees.

“Christ, Kit,” Remy gasped, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “I don’—“

“That’s _all_ you men ever want!” She was enraged, her eyes fiery. “I thought better of you, Remy, I’m nothin’ but a whore t’ you too. Seein’ me fuck Jasmine, seein’ me fuck Victor and bein’ mad that you weren’t gettin’ a piece of my pussy—“

  
Remy grabbed her shoulders. “ _Non_ ,” he yelled, startling her. “It’s not like dat; _I’m_ not like dat! I love you Kit, an’ I jus’ wanted you t’ love me too. An’ when you didn’—it hurt an’ I was mad. Dat wasn’ right of me. You’re your own person; you make your own decisions, not me an’ not Creed, we don’ make ‘em for you. I don’ own you and neither does he.”

Evra’s face crumpled. Remy wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, stroking her hair as she buried her face against his neck.

“I’m jus’ a dirty ol’ man,” he said with a chuckle as he started to rock them back and forth. “Look at me, thinkin’ a young t’ing like you would—“ The press of her mouth on his startled him and he grabbed her shoulders, pushing her away. “Kit, no,” Remy gasped. “Dis isn’t what I wan’. I mean dat.”

It was then Evra started to cry. “Remy,” she wept, “I _do_ love you. I love Jasmine an’ I love you an’ I’m all confused by what Victor’s makin’ me feel … I don’t know how t’ show you my love other than with fuckin’ an’ you don’t want that—“

“No, I don’,” Remy said firmly, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. “Right now, in dis moment, your words are enough, _d’accord_?”

He kissed her temple softly as she hiccupped, her tears beginning to slow. “What about in other moments?”

Remy laughed and cupped her face. “Tell you what, Kit,” he said with a smile. “You find a diff’rent way t’ show dat you love me an’ you find me. I don’ care if I’m an old man at death’s door, you come an’ find me an’ show me dat love.”

Evra smiled and gave a muffled laugh as he kissed her temple again. “Okay,” she said, her voice thick with emotion."I promise, Remy. And this time I mean it.”

Remy thought his heart would burst, not because she’d made a promise or confessed her love for him, but because she _meant_ it and Remy knew this was one promise she was going to keep.

He would see Evra Kitney again.

 

* * *

 

**Evra**

 

It had only taken a day to get back to Victor; she’d sped through the woods, running and leaping, anxious to start the new life that waited for her, anxious to be with the man who was her mate.

 _Mate_.

The word sounded to foreign to Evra’s ears. She was still unsure how it had happened because she had the bite she’d given him was innocuous—or so he claimed. Victor hadn’t bitten her either, at least, not that she recalled, and her beast had been so adamant at first that he was _not_ her mate.

Then suddenly, they were?

Evra shook the thoughts away. She didn’t understand how it worked and besides, did it matter? She and Victor were together now and they were going to see _everything_.

She was excited.

The fire was low as Evra made her way to where they’d bedded down a few days ago. She was relieved that Victor hadn’t moved on without her as she pulled back the blankets and slid in next to him.

He grumbled but rolled over and threw his arm over her, pulling her against his body. “Hey, kid,” he whispered gruffly. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too,” Evra whispered back.

A thrill ran through her as Victor kissed her hard and rolled her onto her back. Sure, she didn’t know how to express her love other than by spreading her legs, but wasn’t what part of this journey was about? She was going to discover how to love with Victor; she just knew it.

They wouldn’t have been mated otherwise … right?

“ _Mine_.” Victor growled as he pushed himself into her.

Evra forgot what she was thinking about.

It was probably unimportant away.

 

* * *

 

  **Sophie**

What a bunch of fools.

What a bunch of _fucking_ fools.

She had sent a letter warning Gunner not to come, but he was such a big, virile, fearless man, he stormed the fucking castle and most of the men had ended up dead—all because a man wouldn’t take orders from a slit.

Sophie knew that’s what the men called her behind her back: a slit, a whore, a cunt. It angered her only because those were names they would never use against their precious Jasmine, the beautiful Irish lass with the bright smile and soft red hair.

A lot of good it did them in the end when Jasmine turned out to be a dyke. Oh god, how Sophie had laughed and laughed when she’s sent along that letter, exposing their treasured Jasmine as a pussy lover.

So, she let the men call her all sorts of names and sucked their cocks when they asked, but never spread her legs for them. She’d let Victor Creed have that honour, and the knowledge she’d fucked a feral right under their very noses thrilled her whenever she brought it to mind.

Sophie let them think she was dumb and vapid but when it came down to it, she was the one who got things _done_.

 _Sophie_ was the one who’d found the delicious doctor’s notebook and hidden it upon her person. _Sophie_ was the one who discovered Gunner, his tongue a lump of red meat on the floor beside him, his neck sliced from ear to ear. _Sophie_ had been the one to hide the fool and nurse him back to health, stealing supplies from Remy when he was distracted. _Sophie_ had been the one to get Gunner on the train with the doctor’s notebook to make sure it got into the right hands.

In the end, it had all been worth it as she clutched the letter in her hands, the letter from the leader of The Family, the man who sent Sophie’s heart fluttering and set her loins alight.

_Dearest Sophie,_

_You have been a valuable and indispensable addition to our Family; your intelligence and bravery have been valiant in the face of our common enemy. Your discovery of Doctor Laurent’s mysterious notebook have been an incredible and beneficial to my research._

_It has been discussed and your mission is to remain with the kind doctor until further notice. Your letter has given me the impression that we have not seen the last of Victor Creed, nor of this alpha female. From now on, please report to me directly._

_Sophie, my dear one, you have earned my eternal gratitude._

_Yours faithfully forever,_

_Doctor Nathaniel Essex_

She held the letter to her chest and kissed it once before tucking it into her bodice.

No one would ever dare call Sophie a slit or a whore or a cunt ever again.

 

 

**~THE END (for now)~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fiction, strictly for my own fun. I'm not making any money from this nor do I own any of the Marvel characters featured here. All others are my own creation.
> 
> Bad words have been used only for the purpose of storytelling. No offence is meant.
> 
> All language mistakes (French or otherwise) are my own. Corrections are appreciated! Learning is how we get better!
> 
> This is not the end of Victor Creed's & Evra Kitney's adventures...


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